


Dreamland

by owlberry



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Childhood, Dream Smp, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), POV Wilbur Soot, Pogtopia, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tommy POV, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlberry/pseuds/owlberry
Summary: This is the story of two brothers, growing up and growing apartThis is the story of a nation, with all its victories and its flawsThis is the story of a man, who forgets all that is important to himThis is the story of a boy, left to pick up the pieces-The stories of L'manberg, Pogtopia, and Nov16 in written form, along with some backstory
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story exactly two months ago, a few days after the Nov16th stream. It's finally finished now, even if some of its ideas are a bit outdated. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3
> 
> as of posting the first chapter, this work is completely finished in terms of writing. it will not be left uncompleted, do not fear.
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!
> 
> now, please enjoy some family dynamic :)

Chaos rages.

The world is nothing but smoke and haze. It’s all blurry. Nothing defined, nothing real. Just fuzzy blobs, dancing on the horizon. Stumbling on the edge of the new gaping crater in the land. Dodging small fires and swinging weapons.

There are the distinct sounds of a demonic hissing, and then explosions. And screams. Very, very familiar screams. In between, the cheery _pop_ of colorful fireworks. All the while, rocks continue sliding and crumbling. The ground trying to settle, even as it is pummeled once more.

“Dad?” His voice breaks.

There’s warmth behind him again. Finally, warmth. Shaking hands gripping him, holding him close. Keeping him in one piece. There’s a damp spot growing in his hair. An even damper one blooming out of his chest. And an even larger, ever growing pool of shadows, spilling out from his body.

It takes a moment, but finally, there is an answer.

“Yes, Will?” Somehow, the voice is just as strong as ever.

“Tell me a story.” Wilbur begs, barely managing a whisper.

Everything is getting fuzzy now. It’s beginning to fade from him. Still, there are the screams and the bursts of light around him. What was it all for? He can’t remember. He can’t remember anymore…

“Dad, please. Tell me a story. Dad—”

-

“Dadza! Dadza! Tell me a story! Just one, then I’ll go to bed, I _promise_.”

Above him, Dadza laughs. Full and hearty, just like always. Wilbur can’t help but pout.

“You say that every night, Will.”

“I mean it this time, Dadza! I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise!”

Not willing to waste a moment more, Wilbur grabs his father’s hand, dragging him towards the bedroom. Dadza only continues to laugh. Everything is warm.

Life was simple back then. It was just the two of them, together in their little house in the forest. Dadza was great at taking care of Wilbur. He was great at _everything_. Anything Wilbur wanted, Dadza made sure he had it.

They would spend the warm days working. Dadza did all kinds of things, and he always let Wilbur tag along. Most days, they collected things. Hours would be spend digging deserts under the sweltering sun. Wilbur would sit off to the side, playing in the sand. (Trying to eat it too, but Dadza never liked that, so he made sure he didn’t see it.)

Other days would be spent at the farm. Digging crops and breeding animals. Shearing wool and collecting eggs and milk for cakes. Wilbur never liked the animals much. They stared at him funny.

Special days were for exploring. Sometimes they would take a boat out on the oceans, sailing for hours to see what they could find. Other times, Dadza would simply scoop Wilbur up—holding him tight as they soared through the sky. Those were Wilbur’s favorite days.

Throughout all their adventures, Dadza taught Wilbur everything he knew. Showed him how to store things away like he does, making them disappear in a flash of light. Or how to read the ancient books and imbue that knowledge into tools and weapons, making them glow.

He even taught Wilbur how to hold a sword, though he didn’t like it much. Even through all his crying and complaining though, Dadza held fast. He was very serious on those days. Telling Wilbur that he must be careful in the world. There are things out there that want to hurt little boys like him. He can’t let them get him.

When Dadza says this, there is a coldness in Wilbur’s stomach that tells him to listen.

-

Growing up, Wilbur believes his life will be the same forever. Just him and his dad, working and laughing throughout the days. And for a long time, there is no reason to believe otherwise. Nothing ever changes in their little world.

But Dadza leaves sometimes. It’s to help people, he says. And Wilbur knows it’s true. Dadza helps him with everything, why wouldn’t he help other people? However, that doesn’t stop him from being upset. It’s lonely when Dad leaves.

It’s cold, too. Really cold.

But he’s usually only gone a few days. And Wilbur is big now, he can handle being alone. He takes care of all the animals, and watches over the crops. Sorts through Dad’s chests, making sure everything is in order. Even goes resource gathering when something is low, if it’s safe to.

(Dadza gets upset with him if he leaves on his own or does things without asking. He has to be safe, always. Wilbur doesn’t like it. But Dadza always seems scared enough that Wilbur listens.)

Dadza leaves once when Wilbur is ten. As always, he stands out on the porch, watching as his father rockets into the sky with his ebony wings. Then, he sets about his day, as normal as possible.

But Dadza is gone for a lot longer than normal. So long, that Wilbur begins to worry he won’t come back. During the night, in front of the crackling fire, Wilbur’s mind races. It always shows him bad things at night.

But he’s a big boy now. He’s strong. So, Wilbur continues onward. Dadza is probably just testing him. Making sure he can take care of himself. Yeah, that’s it. That’s…

Then finally, a week later, Dadza returns.

It’s not in the same fanfare as usual. His father usually tries to scare him by dropping down right in front of him and scooping him up in a big hug. But there’s none of that today.

Wilbur is crouched in the vegetable garden, collecting the fresh spuds. It’s then that he notices movement on the path. In the distance, his father’s familiar green silhouette is just visible. Relief crashes over Wilbur in a wave.

Before he even realizes it, he’s up and running down the path. Once he’s close enough, he latches onto his father. Warm tears prick the corners of his eyes. His father only pats his head lightly, before pulling Wilbur off him. His stomach turns.

Why is Dad being like this? What happened? What did Wilbur do—

“Uh, Will, there’s…”

Through his panicked thoughts, Wilbur finally manages to notice the figure standing at his father’s side.

It’s another little boy, a little smaller than him. He’s… weird. His choppy pink hair and harsh, distrusting red eyes. His ears are shaped funny and… two of his bottom teeth stick out. Honestly, he’s scary looking. Wilbur shrinks into himself.

“Dadza…”

“Wilbur, this is Technoblade. Techno, this is Wilbur Soot.” Dadza explains kindly, a calm smile on his face.

“Uhm, hi.” Wilbur mutters before looking back up at his father. “Dadza, why is he here?”

Dadza sighs to himself. Then, he begins walking back down the path. The strange boy begins to follow without question. Wilbur watches them with wide eyes. Why is this…

It’s then that he notices his father and the boy’s disheveled states. They both look dirty and warn out. And there’s… blood. Little dots of it along the edges of his father’s sandals and in the ends of the boy’s pink hair. He feels like a silverfish is trying to crawl up his throat.

“Techno is going to stay with us now, Will.” Dadza explains when Wilbur runs to catch up.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how long you’ll stay either.”

“I would never leave you.” Will insists.

Dadza only smiles down sadly at him. “Of course.”

Wilbur falls a few steps behind, perfectly in line with the other boy—Techno. Techno _blade_. What kind of a name is that? Wilbur is too scared of him to ask.

Techno’s strange red eyes stare into him, unblinking. Wilbur shifts nervously. Why is he so weird and quiet? And why does he _look_ like that. It’s not normal.

As they pass the farms, something clicks in Wilbur’s head.

“Oh, you look like a pig.” He says before thinking.

Stopping dead in his tracks, his hands fly up over his mouth. Dadza turns around to look at him in a strange mixture of surprise and humor. Techno’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Wilbur begins, voice cracking.

Techno shrugs, looking away. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

His voice is surprisingly level, surprisingly soft. With that, the pink-haired boy turns away and continues down the path. Wilbur can only stare after him.

“God, Will…” Dadza laughs above him, ruffling his hair. “Never change, kid.”

-

Things are… different after that.

Techno is different.

He doesn’t talk much. Or do much, really… Mostly he just helps Dadza out quietly. Otherwise, he sits in the house and watches as Dadza cooks or crafts or enchants or… does _anything_ really.

(To be fair, Wilbur does mostly the same, but it’s weird when Techno does it. Philza _isn’t_ Techno’s Dadza. He’s just… some _kid_.)

But Dadza doesn’t seem to mind it. He seems to like Techno, actually. Like… a lot. Almost as much as he likes Wilbur. It sucks.

All the things Wilbur has learned has to be taught to Techno now. Some things Techno knows, like crafting and inventory. But others he doesn’t. Which just means _Wilbur_ gets to go back to the basics along with him. It’s _stupid_.

What’s even worse is there are a lot of things Techno is _good_ at. Mostly the things Wilbur is _bad_ at. The things Dadza wants him to learn, but he _won’t_. Like fighting. Techno picks up a sword and a shield and is… _good_. Begrudgingly, he is really, _really_ good.

And Wilbur _hates it_.

Because now there’s someone else in their little world, when it was just supposed to be _them_. But now this stupid pig boy is here and he’s ruining _everything_.

(He’s better than Wilbur at _everything_ …)

And Dadza likes him. He really likes him…

-

It’s six months later when Dadza leaves the two of them alone together for the first time. He seemed hesitant too. But Wilbur put on his best smile and assured Dadza that he could take care of Techno. The younger boy didn’t seem too pleased at the thought of _being taken care of_. Wilbur finds it hard to care.

The first day just the two of them is awkward. Really, Techno just follows him around like he usually does with Dadza. It’s unsettling. Something about those beady red eyes that never seem to focus…

It’s not until after lunch, once they’ve finished all their chores, that Techno actually… _does_ something.

“Wanna spar?” He asks, as Wilbur picks up his plate.

For a moment, Wilbur only stares down at him, weighing his options. Techno just stares back, as always. But there’s something about his expression… He looks hopeful, for once. Like maybe he actually… _wants_ to spend time with Wilbur.

Well, sparring is what Techno is best at. Of course he _wants_ to do it. But really, there’s no reason _not_ to. They have the rest of the day to do… whatever. And Dadza… he wants Wilbur to fight, doesn’t he? He should learn to fight.

“Okay, whatever.” Wilbur shrugs.

Techno wipes the floor with him, obviously. But somehow, it’s not horrible. Wilbur actually... has fun. He gets pretty close to disarming Techno a few times too, so it’s not the worst. Techno even tells him how to defend against him and get better. And he’s… nice about it.

Actually, Wilbur thinks this one training session is the most he’s heard Techno talk in all the time they’ve lived together. He seems to come alive with the wooden sword in his hand.

Afterwards, that same life seems to stay in Techno. He chatters Wilbur’s ear off during dinner, and while they fall asleep, and during the next day too. It becomes harder and harder to hate the boy. They actually… get along. Really well. Huh.

Techno’s bright mood stays intact even after Dadza comes back. Everything goes back to normal, except for Techno babbling at all hours of the day. And well… Techno sticks closer to Wilbur’s side. And Wilbur sticks closer to his side.

It’s nice to have a friend, Wilbur decides.

-

“Wilbur, Will, look what I found!” Techno waves a small blue flower in his hand.

Wilbur hums, storing away a mushroom in a flash of light. “That’s very nice, Techno.”

“I think I’ll keep it.” Techno decides, and the flower disappears. “I’ll put it on my windowsill.”

Dadza had recently worked to expand the house so Techno could have his own room. It took forever, and the made house very breezy, but Wilbur’s room got expanded too, so he really, he can’t complain.

“That’s nice.” Wilbur murmurs absentmindedly.

They were sent out a few hours ago to collect mushrooms for Dadza. Luckily, Wilbur knows all the best spots for them by now. Unluckily, Techno’s attention span lasts at most two minutes. So, while Wilbur is diligently collecting, Techno is bouncing all around him.

“Ooh, Wilbur look!” Techno coos behind him.

“That’s very cool.” Wilbur says without looking back. “You should go get it.”

“There’s something down there, I think. I hear… I don’t know. Should I go look?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, wish me luck!”

“Mhm.”

Wilbur snaps another mushroom off the ground. Then, there’s the sounds of rocks sliding together and a small grunt. There’s a coldness in his gut again. Something isn’t—

He turns around, and Techno is gone. His blood seems to stop in his veins. No, that’s not— _No_.

“Techno?!” Wilbur shoots to his feet.

“What?” A familiar small voice shouts from…

Wilbur runs towards Techno’s voice and—nearly falls face first into a small crater in the ground. The beginnings of a cave system. There aren’t any torches here, so Dadza must not have been here before. They shouldn’t—

But Techno is already standing down there amongst the stones. He stares up at Wilbur curiously, completely unaware. How can he be so _dumb_ , doesn’t he know it’s—

Everything in Wilbur goes cold. Techno was right. Something’s down here. There’s a rattling. His eyes dart to the shadowy cave entrance. It’s too dark to see anything, but he hears the sound of a brittle string being pulled back.

He moves before he can think. His boots hit the bottom of the crater. Blood pounds heavy in his ears as he sprints towards Techno. He dives in front of him—and just in time.

There’s a blinding pain in his arm, so harsh the entire world seems to go black. Reality seems to fade from him. It’s so cold, why is it cold, why is it cold, why—

Above him, there’s a scream. It seems to come from a million miles away. Wilbur can only groan, pressing his temple further against the rocks under him. His entire body thrums with pain.

“Wilbur!” There’s another shout above him. This time, it’s enough to shock him back into his body. He comes to just as he’s rolled over onto his back. Terrified red eyes stare down at him.

“The skele—” Wilbur grunts.

“I took care of it!” Techno shouts, causing Wilbur’s ears to ring. “I—I…”

It’s then that Wilbur notices the sword Techno still carries. And, more importantly, the blood pooling between them.

“Oh.”

“Dad told me to protect you and I—” Tears well in Techno’s eyes. “I… We have to go, I have to get you to him. Maybe it’s not too late, maybe…”

Without warning Techno grabs Wilbur under the arms and pulls him to his feet. Wilbur can’t bite back a scream of pain. The world goes fuzzy again. It’s cold. Why is he so cold?

But there’s a warmth beside him. Techno trudges onward through the trees, dragging a delirious, bleeding Wilbur along. How he manages to get them back, Wilbur isn’t aware. Frankly, it’s something he never quite understands.

Once the house is in view, Techno begins screaming for Dadza. It doesn’t take long before a green figure is towering over them. Then, Wilbur is scooped up into his father’s arms.

“What happened?” Dadza depends as he ducks through the doorway.

“I.. it, I—” Techno can’t get his words out.

“Dammit, Will.” Dadza hisses, setting him down on the couch. “How many times do I have to tell you? You have to be careful. You can’t be—”

“It was my fault,” Techno is crying, Wilbur realizes distantly. “Please don’t be mad at him, it was me.”

Dadza takes a deep breath, before looking over his shoulder at Techno. “I’m not mad at anyone. Just… Go get my healing potions, okay? You remember where the first-aid kit is?”

Footsteps skitter away immediately, down the stairs into the storage room. Meanwhile, Dadza examines the wound. The arrow sticking out of Wilbur’s right arm. Disappointment seems to radiate off of him.

“You can’t do this, Will,” Dadza whispers, looking him dead in the eye. “You cannot put yourself in harm’s way like that.”

“I was trying to protect—” Wilbur feels like his throat is lined in cactus spikes.

“And I admire that. But he can take care of himself. I’ve made sure of that. But you…”

Tears well up in Wilbur’s eyes now, completely unrelated to the pain. He looks up at the ceiling. He was just trying to do what Dadza would want…

“I’m sorry…”

“Just…” Dadza sighs. “Please, Will. You have to take care of yourself.”

“I just wanted to protect him.”

“There’s more than one way to do that, and this… You’ve really scared him. That isn’t…”

Dadza rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking. He’s scared Dadza too, hasn’t he? He’s…

“He’s your brother now.” Dadza’s voice cracks. “You’re _his_ brother now, so you can’t be… You can’t be doing things like this, okay?”

“Brother?” Wilbur whispers.

“ _Yes_. And he needs you. _I_ need you too, bub. So just… you can’t get hurt anymore, okay? You have to stay safe, above all else.”

“But Techno would’ve—”

“No buts. Say you understand me.”

Wilbur licks his lips.

“I understand.”

As his father patches him up, Techno curled up at his—at _their_ father’s side—Wilbur gets the all-consuming feeling that nothing he does will ever be right. There will always be _something_ and he will always be… wrong.

Nothing he does will ever be _enough_.

-

When Wilbur is twelve, Dadza brings another boy home.

He isn’t gone for nearly as long as when he found Techno. It’s barely a two day trip, actually. In fact, it hardly even sets in that Dadza is gone by the time he returns.

It’s a warm, cloudless day. All the doors and windows have been left propped open, letting the breeze through. Wilbur and Techno sit on the living room’s wooden floor. Back to the couch, Wilbur writes diligently in a notebook.

Beside him, Techno works on whittling a stick to a harsh point. His tongue peaks through his lips, just barely. It’s only noticeable because one of Techno’s protruding tusks recently fell out. It was quite a shock to Wilbur at the time. Techno enjoyed flailing the baby tusk around like a small knife.

Dadza took it away after Techno stabbed a river fish with it. They still ate the fish for dinner, though.

There’s the familiar shuttering of feathers, and the soft fall of feet out on the back porch. Wilbur is too engrossed in his writing to look up. Dadza will regale them over dinner as usual—

“Boys.” Dadza calls from the doorframe, unusually soft.

“Yeah, Dad?” Techno replies—always diligent. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur sees him frown. Still, he doesn’t look up.

“C’mere, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Now _that_ gets Wilbur’s attention. He shuts his journal, leaning forward to see Dadza properly. Whatever disgruntled words he wants to mutter get caught in his throat.

Clutching at the pant leg of his father is a tiny, blond boy. His bright blue eyes are wide as he stares between Techno and Wilbur. And he’s… young. _Really_ young.

With a warm smile, Dadza reaches down to ruffle the small boy’s hair. “This is Tommy. Tommy this is Techno and Wilbur. They’re gonna help take great care of you now, okay?”

The boy—Tommy—only shrugs, sidling up closer to Dadza. The man laughs, not hesitating to scoop Tommy up. He murmurs quietly into Tommy’s hair, trying to calm him. A bitterness grows in Wilbur’s chest.

Philza used to do that with him. When it was just the two of them. Just them and _no one_ else. No one else to take his attention, or to surpass Wilbur.

He forces himself to shake those thoughts away. They’re not right, he has to remind himself. He’s big now, Dadza wouldn’t treat him like he used to anyways…

Besides, he’s a brother now. He has to be better than that. Techno deserves it…

And well, apparently Wilbur has to watch over this runt too.

-

Unfortunately, Tommy is… not like Techno. _Nothing_ like Techno. Not the _good_ parts of him, anyways. There’s something eerily similar in their smiles when they pour water into an ant’s nest. Wilbur joins in with them though, so he can’t judge too much.

When he first arrived, Techno was quiet. Polite. And most importantly, he _listened_. Tommy is… not like that. Despite his _lackluster_ vocabular and ability to string sentences together, he is immensely loud. And oddly boisterous, considering he’s barely out of _diapers_.

It hardly takes a day for Wilbur to grow tired of him. He begs his father late at night to just _take the child away_. _Put it back where he found it_. _For the love of god please_.

But Philza only laughs, ruffling his hair and telling him they’ll grow to love each other.

When Tommy throws his mushroom stew on Wilbur the next morning, cackling at the expression he makes, Wilbur decides _no_. He doesn’t think they will. But Philza loves the demon child, despite his clear _evilness_. Even Techno seems to like him.

And well, okay. Maybe he doesn’t annoy Wilbur _all_ the time. He can be pretty cute sometimes. Mostly when he’s asleep, and _not talking_. Instead, curled up in Wilbur’s lap, snoring louder than any four-year-old should be able, contented with whatever story Wilbur has read him. No, Wilbur doesn’t mind him so much in those moments…

He makes playtime fun as well. His imagination is still fresh and overflowing. There’s a thrill he adds to their adventures Wilbur just couldn’t seem to bring. Not anymore, at least. He’s gotten a bit old for it all, he thinks…

But when Tommy ropes him into fantastical dragon fights and battles against sea monsters, it’s hard not to get into it. It’s hard to be mad, or bitter, or _old_. Because when Tommy smiles like the sun and laughs so hard it shakes his entire little body, everything seems okay.

They play in the sunshine, in the long grass. Somewhere above, their dad is looking over them, smiling contentedly. There’s laughter and faux punches thrown. Hair pulled and bruises gained. And it’s good. It’s _good_.

Everything is warm, and Wilbur smiles like tomorrow will never come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time changes. new lands are discovered, new faces acquainted. 
> 
> the story of fundy and his dad <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to dreamland. 
> 
> as we go forward, you may notice some differences between my story's reality and the canon of dsmp. this is either because at the time of writing, the canon was not set in stone, or due to deliberate change. i tried to tell a very specific story here, and thus parts of the canon story had to be tweaked to accomplish it. 
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!

It’s a strange place, this new land. Filled with holes, rickety wooden paths, and houses that seem to lean with the wind. And yet, the untouched forests and clean rivers give the unshakable, hopeful feeling of new possibilities. New beginnings.

Wilbur wanders the creaky wooden path now, taking it all in. Foundations have been built up, but still the world seem untamed. Even still, Wilbur can already see the marks of history.

Tommy’s been here for quite a while. Apparently, he and Tubbo have been… causing some problems. Wilbur hasn’t come to sort any of that though, no. Tommy is old enough to deal with the consequences of his own actions now.

No, Wilbur’s just… looking for some quiet. Some independence.

Maybe following in his little brother’s footsteps was the wrong way to accomplish that. But Wilbur’s never quite liked being alone. Not totally, at least. And Tommy is… Tommy. Wilbur thinks he could use some _Tommy_ these days.

Honestly, he’s missed the little shithead. Not that he would ever admit it.

But the boy isn’t around today. He and Tubbo are off doing… Wilbur doesn’t even want to know what. In fact, it’s eerily quiet out here. It’s just him.

Wilbur stops on the path, sighing. He glances over at the dingy hole in the mountain Tommy has been calling home. Never was much of a builder that one…

It’s funny, he thinks now. That both his brothers would leave home before him. He’d struck out on his own, once or twice before. But never for long. He never found much reason in it. But Techno and Tommy… Well, they found something out in the unknown he never did apparently.

_“You’re just not like them, Will.”_

Wilbur shuts his eyes, breathing out slowly. His fa—Phil’s words still burn. The _truth_ of it all just… hurts.

Slowly, Wilbur reacclimates himself. He glances past Tommy’s house, out into the horizon—the untouched land. Nothing but quiet hills and trees. It appears so far untouched by the people of this land.

Maybe there Wilbur could find some solace.

-

A house feels far too formal. Too _real_. And apparently, that doesn’t seem to be the way of these people. Tommy obviously opted for something far less _homey_. On his look around the area, comfortable living spaces were few and far between.

Wilbur makes himself a van. Just a small thing, not a lot of space. He doesn’t need much anyways. He never was one for resource hoarding. Instead, he devotes most of his room to a brewing area.

He figured that could be his _thing_. The quiet man out in the forest, brewing potions all day. Meeting the needs of whoever made the trip out to see him. It would be nice to be needed like that, he thinks.

Eventually, Tommy and Tubbo make their way over to find him. It’s nice to see them again. They’re just as naïve and excitable as he remembers them being. And luckily, not able to tell something is bothering him.

Of course, Tommy asks about Phil. Wilbur manages to keep a straight face, shrugging. He tells the truth. Phil has been distant lately. Busy. He wasn’t around the house much anymore, not with most of his kids gone. Tommy doesn’t seem bothered by it. Why would he?

Life carries on from there.

Wilbur finds himself a new normal. He uses what Phil taught him, brewing up whatever he has the materials for. It calms his mind for a while.

Slowly, he begins to meet the inhabitants of this land. Most are friendly enough. Wilbur suspects that’s mostly because he doesn’t advertise his relationship with Tommy. Even just mentioning the boy has stopped by gets some grimaces.

It’s just like he’s always said. Tommy is a demon child.

The masked man ( _green bastard_ as Tommy calls him) comes to see Wilbur sometimes. He’s… strange, to say the least. There’s a certain aura about him. It’s hard to describe, but he puts Wilbur on edge.

He also reminds Wilbur strangely of his pigling brother… It’s not exactly comforting.

Tommy and Tubbo seem to flit about the land with no purpose he can see. They’re always up to something. It’s difficult to keep track of them, so Wilbur doesn’t. They come to see him sometimes. Tubbo usually brings him supplies, always with a smile on his face. It’s nice.

Still, out alone in the forest, Wilbur can’t help but feel that loneliness creep in. Once all his visitors have gone, and the night monsters creep around, it’s cold in his van. Some nights he can’t sleep because of it. All he does is listen to the rattling of bones and the skittering of something creeping along his roof.

Somehow, Wilbur feels as if his life hasn’t changed at all. He would’ve felt just the same had he stayed home. It would still be just as empty. Just as quiet. Just as cold.

-

On a morning after one of his sleepless nights, Wilbur steps outside of the van. Fog is rolling heavy over the grass—wafting off the nearby river. Despite the usual late summer heat, it’s oddly chilled. Wilbur settles further into his sweater.

Weather be damned, he decides to take his usual morning walk. As he’s walking along the side of the van though, he hears a miniscule whimper. Immediately, he stops in his tracks.

There aren’t many animals here usually, especially not this early. All the monsters should have disappeared as well. He glances around the clearing and finds nothing. Not even any shadows lurking in the trees. So what…?

Working on instinct alone, Wilbur crouches down to look under the van. He’s met with large, brown eyes. A shock of curly orange hair. And… black tipped ears flattened against the orange tangles.

Immediately, the little… fox, boy, child, thing… Immediately it squeaks and jumps back. Wilbur can practically _feel_ the fear radiating out of it. His gut clenches.

“Hey, you don’t…” Wilbur tries desperately to keep his voice gentle. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna… hurt you, or anything. So you don’t… There’s no need to be afraid. I’m nice!”

He cringes at his own words. It’s been a long time since he’s had to deal with something… _little_. Even when Tommy was a kid, he wasn’t… _a kid_. He was a little goblin monster with a potty mouth and the inability to have _hurt feelings_. Tommy was _easy_. _This_ is not.

But despite his own misgivings, the fox-child-thing seems to calm down. At least enough so that Wilbur doesn’t worry it’ll run away. Instead, it just shrinks down further into itself. A dirty, matted fox tail curls around the child’s stomach.

Once again, Wilbur finds himself reminded of Techno. He remembers when Techno was young, how his strange ears would move with his emotions. How his tusks repeatedly fell out and grew back larger than ever during their childhood. How, no matter what, he always felt _different_ in some way.

Of course, Phil never explained it. But Wilbur always knew. And he thinks he’s seeing the same phenomenon now.

“Uhh… have you been here all night?” Wilbur asks quietly, taking in the child’s unkempt and tired appearance.

Slowly, the fox-child nods. Wilbur thinks back to all the monsters he heard wandering about last night. He grimaces.

“That must have been really scary. I’m sorry. Do you… Are you hungry?”

Again, it takes a moment, but the child nods slowly. It seems distrusting, but also desperate. Wilbur feels his heart start to ache. It’s just not right. This child is… _tiny_ really. It shouldn’t be out here alone, fending for itself through the night.

“Come on.” Wilbur extends his hand. “I’ll take care of you.”

The child is hesitant, staring at Wilbur’s pale hand with clear distrust. Even so, Wilbur doesn’t waver. If the child runs off, so be it. But he has to try. He doesn’t know why, but he just…

Ever so slowly, as if afraid if it moves too fast Wilbur will bite, the child extends its own hand.

That’s how Wilbur finds himself with a dirty, lost, fox-child sitting on his van’s counter, munching on the last of his bread. The child had gone through his entire week’s food storage is barely half an hour. Part of Wilbur is amazed. The other is seething with rage. Who let this happen to a child?

He gets no answers to that. It’s possible the child doesn’t even remember. What he does learn is his name is Fundy. He’s been on his own for a while. The monsters scare him. It’s hard to hide from them sometimes. He likes the sweet berries from the spruce forests, but they don’t grow fast enough to feed him all the time.

An odd protectiveness grows in Wilbur’s chest as the child talks. Something he’s never quite felt before. Yet, he welcomes it openly. Every child needs someone to care for them. If it has to be Wilbur, he won’t protest.

Wilbur doesn’t brew any potions that day. Instead, he washes Fundy in the river, cleaning the dirt from his strange ears and tail. As he dries out the child’s hair, he asks if he has anywhere to return to. Casually, Fundy tells him no. Wilbur’s heart sinks.

But that’s okay, he decides. Wilbur can find somewhere else to send him. Maybe Phil would even—

Wilbur abandons that thought immediately.

Fundy drowns in the clothes Wilbur gives him. But he gains some movement ability thanks to some well-placed knots. They spend the rest of the afternoon in Wilbur’s small garden by the riverbed. Thankfully, Wilbur manages to cobble together enough food for dinner. Hopefully Tubbo brings more supplies soon…

As the sun begins to set, Fundy doesn’t seem at all keen to staying outside. Honestly, Wilbur is all too happy to oblige him. The child is obviously exhausted, so Wilbur decides to lay him down in his bed. Fundy is too tired to seem hesitant.

As the monsters begin to creep around outside, Wilbur double checks the locks on the door. For a while, he sits with his back against the wall watching the boy sleep. He feels oddly nostalgic for something he can’t remember.

His own exhaustion soon catches up to him. Wilbur finds himself nodding off. His last thought as he falls asleep is that the van is warmer than he remembers.

-

Wilbur is trying to decide what to do next when Tommy and Tubbo stop by the next day. Shocked isn’t a strong enough word for their reaction to the little boy sitting on Wilbur’s counter. Fundy just grips onto Wilbur’s sleeve.

It takes about four explanations before Tommy calms down enough to stop making Fundy flinch. Then, he asks the looming question. What are they going to do with him? This time, Wilbur is the one who flinches.

He’s not sure he trusts any of the land’s other inhabitants to care for a child. They all seem… volatile at best. And unfortunately, his connections are limited…

“Are you gonna send him to Dadza?” Tommy asks, head tilted.

“No.” Wilbur says immediately.

“Why not? A lost child with no where to go! Philza collects them! I mean, look at us!”

“Yeah, I _know_ but—”

“But what? Where else is the thing gonna go? Dad’s the only one who can take care of it.”

“Don’t call him a _thing_. And you don’t know that. There are plenty other _capable_ people.”

“Like who?” Tommy demands, then grins. “Dream? George? _You_?”

“Maybe!” Wilbur snaps back. “Maybe I will just to spite you!”

Luckily, Tubbo—the little _angel_ —steps in then, and reminds Tommy that they should go get more food. Tommy’s one-track mind immediately latches onto it. They’re gone barely a minute later, and Wilbur can finally breathe again.

_Demon. Child._

Wilbur will figure something out for Fundy. Something that _doesn’t_ involve sending him to Phil. He can think of a _million_ ideas better than that one. Just… not right now. He’s tired and stressed, that’s all. That’s why he’s…

“Am I causing problems?” Fundy’s voice is barely a whisper behind him.

Wilbur stares back at him with wide eyes. Fundy is sitting cross-legged on the center counter. The long sleeves of his sweater flop over his hands twofold. He’s worrying the fabric in his lap, eyes downcast.

“No, you’re not.” Wilbur sighs. “It’s just Tommy.”

“Who’s Philza?”

“No one. It… It doesn’t matter. Tommy is just dumb. Never listen to him, okay? He’ll only get you into trouble.”

“Okay.”

Wilbur leans against the counter, staring at Fundy’s profile. The little boy is refusing to look at him. His ears are flattened against his curls. The sight is oddly depressing.

“I can leave if you don’t—” Fundy begins quiet.

“No.” Wilbur doesn’t let him finish that thought. “No, you don’t… I don’t want you to go. You’re just… a child. You need someone to look after you.”

Fundy still won’t look at him but nods tightly. He still feels bad. Suddenly, Wilbur is plagued with thoughts of the boy running away. Despite only being around the boy for a day, the idea leaves a hole in his chest. Wilbur doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He can tell that Fundy doesn’t either.

“I’ll look after you, okay?” Wilbur tells him softly. Finally, Fundy glances over at him. “You can just… stay here. As long as you want. I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

Wilbur nods. “Really.”

Fundy smiles then. Not fully—not enough to show his teeth. But it causes his cheeks to bunch up. Wilbur feels warm down to his toes. Yeah, this is good.

It’ll all be okay, Wilbur decides. He’ll make sure it is.

-

And for the most part, things are okay. Easy, even. Fundy is an easygoing child. He doesn’t really argue or throw fights—not like Tommy used to. Mostly, he just follows Wilbur around. Helps him with the potions and the garden. Either that or he sits in the corner, messing with items he finds in Wilbur’s chests.

They get him his own clothes—clothes that fit. There isn’t enough room for a bed of his own, but Wilbur offers to move his into the main room. Fundy protests against that, oddly enough. They continue sharing the room—taking turns sleeping on a mat on the floor. That was also at Fundy’s insistence.

The rest of the people in the area come to know Fundy. They’re all surprised at first, that Wilbur would have a child. Wilbur merely smiles through the questions—dodging them as best as possible. For a while, Fundy hides behind him while others are around. Eventually, he begins to warm up to them though.

It takes a while, but Tommy eventually gets over his shock. He doesn’t really have anything to say about Wilbur keeping Fundy around. Then again, he never really questioned Wilbur’s decisions once they were already made. He was good like that.

Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy get along oddly well. When the teens come by, they’ll spend more and more time there. Sometimes whole afternoons pass with the three of them running around outside while Wilbur works.

Overall, Wilbur tries his best. He teaches Fundy the things Phil taught him as a child. Though, he doesn’t really go in depth with fighting. Fundy won’t ever need to defend himself, he decides. Wilbur will protect him.

-

One thing was clear about Fundy from the moment Wilbur first saw him. He’s… different. Over the months they spend together, that only becomes increasingly clear.

Truthfully, Wilbur doesn’t know much about children. He didn’t really pay attention when Tommy was young. There didn’t seem to be a reason to. All he knows is that Tommy grew up.

And in that regard, Fundy is the same. Except… well, Wilbur doesn’t ever remember Tommy growing so _quickly_. After puberty, yeah, he hit his growth spurts. Would wake up in the morning two inches taller than the night before. But that was later in life.

Fundy… he gets bigger everyday and Wilbur _means_ that. He already appears years older than he did when they first met. It’s… odd. Maybe even terrifying sometimes.

Originally, Wilbur wonders if he’s imagining it. Then he asks the masked man, Dream. He has no reason to lie. He only nods. There’s a sinking feeling in Wilbur’s chest then.

Every time he notices Fundy growing up more and more, he can’t help but feel like he’s losing something.

-

Things begin to change in this new land. More and more people travel to claim chunks of it. Buildings, paths, towers begin to crowd the skyline. Holes begin to dot the ground—the results of monster fighting and Tommy’s fights with the masked man.

The land begins to become much, much more complicated.

The green man, creator and ruler of this land, becomes much less forgiving.

All this time, Wilbur has operated uninhibited. He brews his potions, receives items in return, and everyone goes about their business. Never in secret. In fact, his small business was advertised freely across the area. Not once did Dream protest.

Until now, that is.

Perhaps he finally realized it. He has no real control. No real power. People come and go freely on his land. Build where they want. Make what they want. Pick fights and cause destruction whenever they want.

The land is lawless, and thus, a ruler has no rule. He is simply a figurehead. Someone they pretend to respect simply for the sake of tradition. But at the end of the day… his word is meaningless. He has shown no _reason_ to obey. Except bullying a sixteen-year-old, of course…

Apparently, Dream has realized his position, and wishes to change it.

He wishes to be feared.

On another foggy morning, the masked man appears. He is donned in glowing armor, axe and shield strapped to his back. A sword clanks against his leg as he walks. Once again, Wilbur finds himself reminded of a certain pigling. He shakes the images away.

In plain, monotonous words, Dream explains that things will be changing. Wilbur will no longer be allowed to run his business freely. A closer eye will be kept on him. Just to make sure no one… _unsavory_ can gain too much of an upper hand.

Wilbur questions him, of course. Asks why he should listen. Sure, Dream could run him off these lands, but why would he care? Tubbo and Tommy are his only attachments. And if Dream decides Wilbur is no longer welcome, those two _certainly_ will not be.

Slowly, that masked face turns to the van’s window. Wilbur tenses. He doesn’t have to turn to know what Dream is staring at. No doubt Fundy is taking his breakfast, sat up on the counter as usual. In plain, innocent view.

“You never taught him to fight, did you?”

The words send a chill up Wilbur’s spine.

No. Not Fundy, anyone but him please—

“Shame. He’s light on his feet. He’d be good for it.”

“I won’t turn him into a soldier.” Wilbur says, but the words feel distant.

Dream shrugs. “You’re good with a quill, aren’t you? Just keep logs of what you brew. _All of it_. As long as you do that, we won’t have a problem, alright?”

Before Wilbur can even think of a response, he’s gone. Wilbur is left staring at the spot he just stood, shaking like a leaf in autumn wind.

-

“Why don’t people come to see us anymore, Wilbur?”

The question takes Wilbur off guard. He glances over at Fundy. He’s already curled up in bed—comforter to his chin. There’s a nervousness in his dark eyes. Like he thinks he’s not allowed to ask questions. Not allowed to _think_ for himself.

Wilbur sighs, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Everyone’s busy, bud. And uh… Dream’s trying to get ahold of all the chaos around. Trying to formalize things. So, uh, things are a little rocky right now.”

It is, perhaps, the understatement of the century. Supplies are running low— _more_ than low. The farm can barely keep up with the demands of Fundy’s rapid growth.

Not only that but… Tommy fought Dream again. And he actually won. He got his discs back. Which is good for him. And good because now Dream doesn’t have any leverage over him. But… Dream has been fuming ever since.

Tensions are rising, and fast. How it’s all going to play out… Wilbur hasn’t the faintest clue. His only hope is that they can stay safe out here. As long as Fundy is safe…

“Will everything be okay?” Fundy asks quietly.

Wilbur does his best to smile. “Of course it will. I won’t let anything happen to us, okay?”

Fundy nods, but Wilbur can see the anxiety still plaguing him. Not knowing what else to do, Wilbur reaches forward to ruffle his hair. Fundy smiles, the tiniest bit. Wilbur counts it as a win.

He stands up, ready to wish Fundy goodnight and go count the dwindling ingredients for the fourth time that week. However, before he can even straighten up, Fundy’s hand grips his sleeve. Since when was his grip so strong…?

“Uh, Wilbur, will you…” Fundy gets quieter with every syllable.

“Yeah?” Wilbur prompts.

“Can you stay with me? There were… There were a lot of monsters last night. It scared me.”

Wilbur feels his heart melt in his chest. “Of course, kiddo.”

He means to simply drag the cot closer and stay there, but Fundy continues tugging on his sleeve. Hesitantly, Wilbur crawls into bed. Sure, they spend a lot of time together but… Well, they’ve never been big on physical affection. Wilbur wasn’t good at it and he assumed Fundy didn’t want it…

But the little fox-boy curls up right next to him, snuggling deep into the blankets. Slowly, Wilbur relaxes against him. His arms wrap tight around him.

“Night, Wilbur.” Fundy whispers, words beginning to slur.

Wilbur snorts quietly. “Goodnight, Fundy.”

In seconds, Fundy is fast asleep. Wilbur already feels himself following suit. He smiles to himself as Fundy snores against his shoulder.

Dream can stomp around and threaten him as much as he wants. He can cut them off from the rest of the people and try to starve them. It doesn’t matter. Wilbur will get them through it.

But the _second_ Dream tries to hurt his Fundy… That green bastard will have _hell_ to pay.

-

Bubbling and hissing fill the van as Wilbur works over his brewing stands. The windows are beginning to fog up due to the steam. Wilbur wipes his brow, adding the next ingredient to one batch, and checking the temperature of another.

Finally, he was given some business again. Unfortunately, it was Dream. He requested a massive order, full of everything from regeneration potions to water breathing to jumping. As much as Wilbur didn’t want to aid him, work was work. Plus, Dream was paying a hefty reward…

Wilbur straightens up, cracking his back. He’s been working at this for hours now. He leans back down to peer out the foggy windows. He has to wipe at it with his sleeve to get a clear view. Still, the forest is quiet. Wilbur clenches his jaw before fiddling with one of his brewing stands again.

By now, it’s late afternoon. He’s been at this all day. But work is work and he’s always enjoyed it. Focusing on ingredients, measuring things out… It calms him. Keeps him centered. Plus, if it means he can further avoid Dream’s wrath…

Golden sunlight begins to filter through the van as the sun begins to set. He’ll have to stop for the day soon, he decides. They’ll have to have dinner soon and… Wilbur can’t shake the feeling that he’s forgetting something. Something terribly important…

All around him, the van shakes as a giant spider clambers up the side. It hisses and spits. Wilbur doesn’t even look up from his work. It’s something one must become used to. The monsters come and they go and that is—

Wilbur feels as though he was just dropped into artic waters. His entire body goes stiff with cold.

He sent Fundy out after lunch. Told him to… to gather those berries he likes so much. If Dream came by, Wilbur didn’t want him to see Fundy. Wanted him to be safe in case—in case _anything_.

But now it’s sundown. And the monsters are already appearing, getting greedy and confident.

Fundy isn’t back.

Before he even has time to worry, time to think of all the horrible things that might happen, Wilbur is snatching up his coat and shoving the van’s door open. He curses himself now for his lack of weapons. Of armor. _Any_ sort of protection.

With nothing but his ratty coat and pounding heart, Wilbur sprints toward the spruce forest. All around him, monsters snarl and lunge for him. Arrows fling by him every few seconds. Begrudgingly, Wilbur finds himself grateful for all those years of training. The monsters don’t lay a finger or claw on him.

Fundy’s name leaves his lungs every few moments. He wishes he could keep his voice level. The last thing he wants is for Fundy to know how scared he is. That’s just—That’s not what fathers do.

But he finds it’s impossible to sound anything other than terrified. Not as the sun continues to sink. As more monsters crawl out of the ground, snapping and snarling at his heels. Not as he screams out Fundy’s name and is met only with the echoes of his own voice in response. It’s impossible not to _be_ anything other than terrified.

“Fundy!” Wilbur ducks under a zombie’s reaching arm, kicking it away. “ _Fundy_!”

And finally, _finally_ , the dark forest answers back.

“Wilbur!”

The voice is tiny, barely audible. But it’s there. Dear angels above, he is _there_. Wilbur doesn’t hesitate a second before running in the direction the voice came from.

“I’m coming!” He yells, voice hoarse. “I’m coming, just stay where you are!”

A miniscule scream is his only answer. Wilbur runs faster than he ever has before.

After what feels like an eternity, a structure comes into view in the distance. A tiny wooden box leaned up against a tree. It’s dilapidated by now—crumbling into dust. It was obviously someone’s shoddy shelter to protect them during the night. Maybe even Dream’s, once upon a time.

Even from a distance, Wilbur can hear Fundy whimpering from inside. His stomach turns. Monsters are piled by the door, pounding on it. Snarling and grabbing at each other, trying to get closer to—to their _prey_. He really wishes he had a sword right now.

On his approach, Wilbur picks up a rock and tosses it noisily into a tree. Immediately, all the monsters turn to the noise. A few even run toward it on instinct. It gives him just enough time to sprint towards the shack, sliding in through a hole in the wall close to the ground.

Just as he hits the floor on the inside, there’s a loud shriek. In an instant, Wilbur is on his feet, hands placating above his head. It’s dark in the tiny room. Without his eyes adjusting, Wilbur can barely see in front of him.

Though, it only takes a second before a body crashes into his. Arms wrap around his hips, holding tighter than ever. Wilbur finally feels like he can breathe again. He holds onto tight to where Fundy buries his face in Wilbur’s chest.

“Wilbur, I’m sorry.” Fundy is sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I saw it was getting late but I—I found a new patch of bushes and I thought—I thought I could get them! I could get them really super quick and then—then maybe you’d be proud of me but instead I just ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, bud,” Wilbur murmurs. “Not a single thing, okay? It’s okay, I understand. I’m here now, everything is fine.”

Even as he says it, Wilbur can’t make himself believe it. The monsters are still outside. In fact, it sounds like they’re growing in numbers. The flimsy door is shaking on its rusty hinges. Dust falls from the roof as spiders clamber across it. They’re beginning to find the holes in the walls, poking green, slimy arms through. Searching…

The bitter reality falls over Wilbur in waves. They’re not getting out of here in one piece. But his kid—his _kid_ … No matter what, Fundy can’t get hurt. He’s just a child. He doesn’t know… know _anything_.

Wilbur hasn’t even taught him how to fish yet. Or how to enchant. He’s been meaning to show him how to make maps he just—He hasn’t gotten around to it. He hasn’t gotten around to a lot of things.

It’s just not fair.

Eyes now adjusted to the dark, Wilbur searches the small space desperately. Staying here until morning isn’t an option. The monsters will have long since gotten to them. They have to go.

But the monsters, they’ll just chase them down. Wilbur will have to carry Fundy and who knows how much that’ll slow him. They’d never get away. Not together, at least…

There’s a small window, in the back wall. Well, really, it’s nothing more than a hole with a covering. Wilbur wouldn’t fit. But Fundy… Fundy would have room to spare.

“Fundy, hey,” Wilbur pries the boy’s head off his stomach. Luckily, it’s too dark to see his tears. “You have to listen to me. I am going to get you out of here, but you have to listen. And you can’t argue, alright?”

Wilbur feels the boy nod.

“Good. Do you see that window back there? Back behind me?”

“Yeah…”

“I need you to crawl through it, alright? Then you have to run. Run away from the rising moon. You’ll see lights soon, okay? You just have to keep running, no matter what. Do you understand?”

“I—Yes. But what about you?”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” Apparently, Wilbur can’t keep the sadness out of his voice.

With his hands still on Fundy’s cheeks, Wilbur can feel the boy’s eyes widen. Feel all the muscles contract as the horror blooms on his face. He shuts his own eyes, breathing deep. He has to be strong. He has…

“No, you can’t—” Fundy whimpers. “They’ll _hurt you_ —”

“I said no arguing, Fundy.”

“But _Wilbur_ —”

“Listen when I tell you to do something. Just this once. Please.”

Fundy buries his face in Wilbur’s stomach again. His tiny twig arms squeeze Wilbur tight. Wilbur pets a hand through the boy’s hair, pretending not to hear him cry.

There’s a particularly loud groan from outside. There’s a banging against the door. The top hinge snaps. Another green arm slithers its way inside. Then, Wilbur hears the creaking of an old bow string being pulled back.

“Fundy, go.”

“No, please—”

“ _Go_!”

Wilbur pushes the boy away, towards the window. He backs towards the door. The ghost of reaching, hungry fingers brush against his spine. Thankfully, Fundy listens. He clambers up the wall, sliding through the window. Wilbur breathes out slowly.

He turns and kicks at the door. It only takes a few hits before it completely snaps in half. Half a dozen keen monster faces stare him down. Wilbur doesn’t allow himself a moment to be afraid before rushing at them.

Everything goes cold.

~

“Why was it always me?”

The door slams shut harshly. A moment passes filled with only bitter quiet. Not even the old house’s foundations dare to creak. Wilbur doesn’t look up from the faded rug. Even still, he feels his father’s eyes on him. Feels that familiar, strong presence behind him. The ghost of ebony wings folding protectively around him.

Even though his father is back, everything is still so quiet. It’s been a long time since things were like before. Both his brothers have gone, just as suddenly as they arrived. Now, everything is dark and dusty and so, so empty.

Everything is so cold without them…

“What do you mean?” Philza asks behind him, voice level.

“I was always the one you scolded.” Wilbur scowls. “No matter what I did, it was still wrong. I know I couldn’t be everything you wanted, but I just don’t understand.”

His father sighs. “I know it may seem that way but—”

“It doesn’t _seem_ that way. It _is_ that way. You never let me do anything! Techno and Tommy could’ve run into a fortress with no preparation and you’d still be singing their praises! Meanwhile I would come home with a bruised knee and you’d lecture me into next week!”

“I just want you to be _safe_ , Will—”

“But it was always just _me_ who had to be careful!” Wilbur finally turns around to glare at his father. “You never gave the two of them the same treatment, even though they’re both more reckless than me! Even when Tommy was half my age and trying to stick his hands into lava! Or when Techno would rush straight at mobs, with no protection! So, _why_. Why was it always me?”

For a moment, his father only stares at him. Something about his expression is pained—yet not at all surprised. He knew this day would come eventually. Wilbur wouldn’t always be young and dumb and shy enough to pretend everything was okay. One day, Wilbur was going to think for himself.

When Philza finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper.

“You’re just not like them, Will.”

Even though he knows, _he knows_ , it still feels like the floor is just torn out from under Wilbur. Of course he isn’t like them. And now he knows he never had a chance to be.

“Why?” Wilbur tries to seem fierce, but his voice shakes. He stands, if only to appear larger than his father. “ _Why_?”

“Wilbur, it’s…” Philza sighs again. “It’s a long story. I really never wanted to have this conversation like this—”

“You never wanted to have this conversation _at all_. You just wanted me to play along, didn’t you?”

“That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” Wilbur shouts. “Stop with the bullshit, old man. For once in my life, please just tell me I’m a disappointment. I’m not the son you wanted. But Techno is. And that’s fine! That’s good, I’m glad you found him—”

“You’re not a disappointment to me—” For maybe the first time ever, anger is apparent in Philza’s tone.

“And Tommy! Tommy is just… he’s lovable, isn’t he? A lovable little idiot! It’d be impossible for you _not_ to prefer him, right? Plus, he brought you Tubbo! Little old Tubbo, who loves building things with you, and looks up to you so much.

“Meanwhile, there’s just me! Who never really _listened_ to what you taught me. And never turned out how you wanted, not like Techno did! No, I always preferred to be moody and quiet, and write instead of fight, and never really liked building as much as you wanted. Why wouldn’t you hate me, right?”

“I _don’t_ hate you.” Philza snaps, real anger in his eyes. “I _never_ could. You’re my _son_. No matter what you do, or who you are, that will never change. _Never_.”

“But I’m just not like them, right?” Wilbur laughs, bitter. “I’m _just not like them_. And that won’t ever change either, right?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Then be clear for once! Just say what you mean!”

Quiet rushes back over them like the tide. Hurt is reflected in his father’s expression. Deep down, some part of Wilbur knows this isn’t fair. But in that moment, he can’t care. He lets his anger rule him, because otherwise he’ll have to face the pain.

Then, his world is brought to a halt.

“You only have two lives, Will.”

Immediately, he feels himself go still. A coldness sweeps down deep into his bones. Worse than any he’s ever felt before. It’s the horrible, unyielding knowledge that his father is telling the truth.

He only has two lives left.

“What?” Wilbur croaks, without meaning to. “What? When… When did…?”

“You were only a baby.” Philza is quiet now. “I was there, when it happened. And it was… It tore me apart, Will. That’s why I was always so… so strict when you were a kid. You didn’t have the luxury of being reckless.”

“But… but…”

“I’m sorry, Will. I should’ve told you sooner, I just… You always were an anxious child, and I never wanted it looming over you.”

“So, you lied.”

“I lied.”

The room feels like its closing in on him. No, no, this can’t… Only two lives left? But… but… No, that’s just…

“Will!” Philza’s voice is panicked as Wilbur stumbles towards the door.

“Don’t!” Wilbur snaps back at him. “Just don’t.”

~

Wilbur wakes up. Shaky. Sweating. Weak. Scared.

Cold.

With all his might, he pushes himself up. He’s on the floor of the van’s main room. He’s back here. Back home. With orange and blue flooding in from outside. And no Fundy.

Wilbur stumbles towards the door, strength coming back slowly. He shoves it open, not caring what horror might await him on the other side. He has to find his son.

“Fundy!” Wilbur yells, still hoarse, as he limps across the grass. “Fundy!”

He rounds the back of the van, staring out into the forest. He lets out one last, nonsensical yell. Wilbur’s lost him. He gave everything he had to give. Did everything he could.

But it wasn’t enough.

He just isn’t enough.

Just as the despair threatens to overtake him, just as his knees threaten to give out, a small voice yells back from the forest.

A familiar warmth flickers back to life in his chest. Quiet and weak, but it’s here. Oh stars, he’s alive. He’s okay.

“Fundy!” Wilbur yells out again, limping forward fast enough for his vision to fade around the edges.

Just as Wilbur’s wits come back, a spot of orange appears out of the darkness of trees. His vision blurs with tears. Heart pounding in his throat, Wilbur sprints. Fundy meets him halfway.

“Dad,” Fundy sobs into his chest as they collapse to the ground. The child is shaking with exhaustion. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Wilbur shushes him gently. “It’s okay. It’s all okay now. I promise.”

-

Candlelight flickers gently, casting the van in shades of yellow. Wilbur sits at the main table. A blank sheet of paper stares back at him. His stomach roils. The words just won’t come.

He glances over at the open door to the bedroom. Fundy is in there, safe. Pretending to sleep, but softly sniffling into his blankets. Wilbur will join him soon. Hopefully able to chase off any fears. To remind him they are both okay.

Wilbur would never let anything happen to him.

He glances back down at the empty paper challenging him. There is no need for pleasantries, not anymore. There is no need for anything but the truth. With a shaking hand, he puts his quill to paper.

Once he’s finished, Wilbur folds it. Then, he holds it against the candle’s flame. It turns to ash in barely a moment. Probably already in the recipient’s hands by now.

He didn’t sign it. He doesn’t need to.

Wilbur recaps his ink. The rest, he leaves. He’ll have to clean up tomorrow. His last batch of potions was ruined. A few even exploded, leaving color stains all across the walls. By now, Wilbur doesn’t care.

He simply stands from his place, and goes to crawl in bed with his son. Fundy pretends to be asleep. That’s okay, Wilbur decides.

And yet, Wilbur cannot bring himself to sleep either. For a while, he stares at the ceiling. In his mind, he sees the letter. The truth he put down. His confession.

“ _I’ve only got one left now. I’ll make it count_.”

Wilbur does not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, new chapter soon ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the revolution of l'manberg in written form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do not claim ownership of the story, nor large pieces of dialogue in this chapter. i am simply taking the wonderful story laid out by the dsmp and turning it to written form. hopefully i have done it justice <3
> 
> warning for non graphic descriptions of canon typical violence. nothing unexpected, or hopefully overboard. 
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!
> 
> now, please enjoy, the story of our glorious nation

“Hello Dream.”

“Wilbur.”

“Welcome to our great nation of L’manberg.”

On paper, the plan was simple. Straight forward. Wonderful.

Late at night, in the belly of the “hto dog van” as the youngsters liked to call it, there were whispers. Murmurings of unhappiness. Hurt, pain, sorrow. Anger. Burning as bright and hot as the sun. And above all, there was inspiration. A hope of a new and better tomorrow.

Revolution was on the horizon, staring down this green land. Dream was cruel. Irresponsible. Threatening. He did not fight for his people’s happiness, only his own power lust. And a few disgruntled voices decided they’d had enough.

Well, really it was just Wilbur, his teenaged brother, his brother’s orphan friend, a child foxling, and a stranger with dark glasses. But for now, it is enough. They will be _enough_.

“ _L’manberg?_ ” Dream repeats, incredulous.

His blank, masked face slowly moves, tracing the edges of the brightly colored walls. The walls Wilbur stands proudly on, arms behind his back. His new blue coat flows in the afternoon wind. His hat sits firmly on his curls. And Wilbur does not back down at the sight of his greatest adversary.

“Yes.” Wilbur lifts his chin. “We are succeeding from your lands. This area is ours now.”

Slowly, Dream brings those tiny black dots he pretends are eyes back up to Wilbur. Not for the first time, Wilbur wonders what he has to hide. Why he refuses to show his face. Wilbur wonders what he is _scared_ of.

“And what happens if I say no?”

Despite himself, Wilbur tenses at the words. Maybe Dream doesn’t have anything to hide. Maybe he just relishes in being unknown. Maybe he likes the fear that empty smiley face seems to bring.

“I could just march in here with my friends and take all this back, you know.” Dream gestures vaguely.

Wilbur shrugs. “You could try.”

For a moment, Dream only continues staring at him. The man’s hand has moved to his sword hilt. His fingers drum along it rhythmically.

“What are the laws of your land?” Dream asks, seeming curious. As if he might let them be, should they act polite.

“No weapons, no armor. We use our words to fight. To prove ourselves.”

“So, it’s the land of pussies.”

Wilbur grits his teeth.

“We don’t need anything outside these walls, Dream. We’re all set here. All I need is for you to let Tommy and Tubbo grab their things. Can you do that? Or are you going to attack the defenseless children again?”

Dream snorts, shaking his head. Apparently unwilling to be antagonized today, Dream simply begins walking backwards. Shadows cast over his masked, making it look all the more sinister.

“I’ll be back.” Is all Dream says before disappearing.

Wilbur straightens up at the threat, chin held high. Of course he will be. Luckily, they’ll be ready.

-

They spend many nights in the van planning. Wilbur has become the de facto leader, so he does most of the talking. All the lists and documents are in his writing. He pours everything he has into building his nation.

Eret mostly leans back in his chair. The man doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his deep timbre catches everyone’s attention. If Wilbur’s honest, he doesn’t know why Eret is here. They hardly know each other. Wilbur’s suspicion is that he’s just bored. Looking for something to do.

Looking for a way to mess with Dream…

Tubbo is bright-eyed and excitable as always. He’s always been that way. Just point him in an interesting direction and he lights up like a wildfire. So far, he’s done most of the work. Gathered the supplies, erected the walls. Without him, Wilbur doesn’t know where they’d be.

Fundy doesn’t really do much. Wilbur doesn’t want him to. Mostly, the boy just sits under the table, practicing his crafting. He listens to everything though. Even chimes in every once and a while. His ideas are… actually pretty good.

He’s grown up a lot. In a lot of ways. He’s about a preteen now, all gawky and awkward. It’s strange to see him so big now… Not to mention how much he’s matured. It’s like… he’s a whole different person now. He’s grown up.

There’s an ache in Wilbur’s chest, deep down, whenever he thinks about it for too long. He shakes it off now. No time for that. They have to get this right. He has to keep Fundy safe. Anything to keep him safe…

And lastly… there’s Tommy.

Honestly, Wilbur doesn’t know what he expected. Or rather, why he expected anything _different_. Tommy is just like he always is. Naïve. Brash. Idiotic. Lazy. _Useless_.

It’s all just a game to him. He’s just following along because… because that’s what _Wilbur_ is doing. And no matter what, Tommy always follows him. Always looks up to him. Goes along with any idea he has, if he thinks it will yield a good time.

Most importantly, Tommy wants to piss off Dream. He has his discs back now. There’s no excuse to antagonize the masked man anymore. No _reason_ to start fights. And at the end of the day, that’s all Tommy knows how to do. _Fight_.

And bitch, and complain, and _break things_ , and just be generally—exasperating.

Sometimes, Wilbur really just wishes his younger brother would _grow up already_.

He doesn’t hate Tommy, not really. Well, most of the time at least. He just—He wants him to be better. Wants him to be _more_. Because he knows Tommy has it in him to do… _something_. _Anything_. And he wants that something to be _good_.

But the older Tommy gets, and the more he stays the same, Wilbur worries.

Maybe Tommy just isn’t good enough.

-

They go to Tommy’s house, one day. The reality of it all just creeps on Wilbur more and more. Tommy doesn’t care. Not really. He’s just following along like a _sheep_. But not even a _good_ sheep. He’s a _traitorous sheep_. Most likely going to fall over at the slightest sign of pressure.

That just won’t do.

“Tommy, listen to me.” Wilbur sighs once they go inside. “This is the conversation we need to have. I feel like you’re not devoted to the cause. You remember what I said right at the beginning of this? Starting a moment is easy. It’s—It’s easy, it’s relaxed. We’re starting a revolution, Tommy. This is hard. You’ve gotta give some things up—”

“You want me to give up my home?” Tommy asks, voice low.

Wilbur only hums, tilting his head side to side. He struts back outside. Tommy, of course, follows at his heels. Under the morning sun, Wilbur turns back to Tommy.

“This is where I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me, _right now_ , are you going to commit to the revolution?” Wilbur says forcefully. “This isn’t— _L’manberg_ isn’t a holiday home for you, Tommy. It can’t be.”

“Well, _yeah_ —” Tommy’s voice cracks. “But everyone needs leisure space, I mean…”

Wilbur sighs through his nose. Tommy doesn’t care about the revolution. He doesn’t care about anything but _himself_. And at this point, Wilbur worries that won’t ever change.

Without another word, Wilbur begins the walk back to L’manberg. This time, Tommy hesitates to follow. Traitor. Idiot. _Stupid little demon child_ , why can’t he do this _one_ thing for Wilbur. After _everything_ Wilbur has done for him, after Wilbur practically _raised_ him, why can’t he just—

“Wilbur, wait—” Tommy runs to catch up to him. “Let me just—”

“Look, Tommy.” Wilbur stops once more, turning to him. “You’ve chosen your spot. You’ve chosen to live with the enemy. And that’s… okay. I don’t expect you to devote _all_ your time to L’manberg but—I just need to know you’re devoted. That you’re _dedicated_.”

“I am devoted, I am dedicated—We can make my home the embassy, I don’t care. I want… I want to do this with you.”

Wilbur feels himself soften, a bit. Demon child… No matter all his flaws, Tommy is honest. He does care, it just… It takes a moment for him to make that clear. And Wilbur knows that—he _should_ know that…

He just wants Tommy to be good. That’s all he’s ever wanted for him.

Sighing, Wilbur places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. The boy straightens up under his touch. As if rising to attention. Something swells in Wilbur’s chest. He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder.

“Good.”

“You’re not kicking me out then?” Tommy asks, always paranoid. Always too _observant_.

“Of course not. Just testing you, is all. But congrats. You passed. Don’t fuck up.”

Tommy nods, fierce. His eyes glow with determination. Ever so cautiously, Wilbur decides to believe everything will be okay. Tommy won’t be… _Tommy_.

Just for a little while…

-

Another quiet— _tense_ —afternoon has befallen the van. Wilbur is sat at the main table, pouring over his books for the nth time. At his feet, Fundy is flipping through one of his study books. Unfortunately, Wilbur doesn’t have time to teach him everything he’d like to… The books will have to do for now.

Fundy has been quiet lately. Wilbur can’t quite figure out why. He’s probably just worried about the revolution. What else would he be thinking about?

Wilbur will just have to work hard for him. To keep him safe. That’s what this is all about, after all. The walls, the separation, the plans… At the core, it’s all for him. Building a brighter, better future. Free of tyranny and terror. Of any _threat_.

With that in mind, Wilbur focuses back on his book. He’ll have to outsmart him. Violence… Wilbur’s never liked it much. Not like his brothers. Not like their father wanted him to. He was never any good at it, anyways.

What he is good at is talking. Writing. Using words and emotions to bring down the enemy. So, that is what he will do.

And it’s going to work. He can feel it. There’s no way they can fail. Yes, this will all—

Behind him, the van’s door slams open. Footsteps pound. A second later, Tommy is standing in the doorway. He’s wide-eyed, panting for breath. It’s one of the few times in their lives that Wilbur has seen Tommy… _scared_.

Without thinking, Wilbur stands.

“Wilb—Wilbur, there’s a problem—” Tommy chokes out. “The forest—The forest—”

He can’t seem to get his words out. Wilbur resists the urge to shake him. Before the frustration can settle in, it hits him. The smell of smoke, wafting in through the open door. Wilbur pushes past Tommy, rushing outside.

The world is stained in hues of yellow and orange. Black smoke billows through the sky, blotting out the sun. The air is putrid, causing Wilbur to choke on his own breath. The land outside their borders burns to ash.

All around him, people rush around. Tommy and Eret sprint off, yelling something about a woman. No doubt they’re going to grab their items from their stash in the woods. Violence is always the answer to them, they don’t understand—

Meanwhile, Tubbo and Fundy wade into the river, filling buckets. They mean to stop it. An impossible task, just the two of them. But they will try. That is what they do. That is what they _always_ do.

And Wilbur… Wilbur is frozen. He stares at the sky, the trees, the flames. The ash already blowing in the wind. He finds himself unable to move, think—speechless.

Useless.

Wilbur is left _useless_.

-

There’s a hefty grunting as two bruised, bloody bodies hit the grass at Wilbur’s feet. Unable to look them in the face, Wilbur looks up at Dream instead. The man’s mask stares back—impassive as ever. There are flecks of blood on his chest plate. Wilbur curls his fists.

“Found your teenagers.” Dream tells him, voice slipped.

Wilbur glances down at them again. Tubbo and Tommy are strewn out on the grass. One of Tommy’s eyes is black. Tubbo’s nose is bleeding. Both sport too many cuts and slowly coloring bruises to count. Their blue uniforms are torn and crumpled.

“You said you have everything you need inside these walls, right?” Dream asks, gesturing to the walls above. He stands just outside the entrance. On his turf. Where Wilbur can’t lay a single hand on him without good reason.

Having two of his men thrown at his feet, bloody and barely conscious seems good enough reason to him. But this is… this is tricky. Dream is smart—much smarter than he lets on. Much smarter than Wilbur wants to _admit_. He can’t be reckless, he has to… he has to…

Behind Dream, his goons wear matching crooked grins. He’s never paid much attention to George but… Sapnap was his customer once. They never got along great. Truthfully, Wilbur never liked him much—for reasons he himself doesn’t know. Even so, it hurts to see him do this. It feels like betrayal.

“If you have everything you need, I don’t see why they have a reason to be on _my_ land.” Dream continues, cocking his head to one side. “And before you say anything—they already retrieved their belongings. I watched as they did so. But this… I can see no reason in it. So, I’ve returned them where they belong.”

“You _bastard_.” Tommy spits blood into the grass as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. Even through his black eye, his glare is fierce. “Give us back our _stuff_ —”

“What did they take?” Wilbur asks, voice calm and detached.

“Our potions,” Tubbo murmurs into the grass. “Invisibility potions…”

“You lost them?”

“Yes and no.” Tommy mumbles.

Tubbo coughs, turning to glare at Tommy. Even so, his voice is nervous. “No, we have none. The answer was no, there was no _and yes_.”

Wilbur sighs through his nose, closing his eyes briefly. In their limited space, supplies are quickly running out. And if they’re no longer allowed on Dream’s land… _Shit_.

A bottle appears in Dream’s hand in a flash of light. He tosses it carelessly in the air. “Think of it as… _compensation_.”

“What, for the beating you gave my men?” Wilbur demands.

“No, for the fact I didn’t kill them.”

A cold weight hits the bottom of Wilbur’s stomach. He tightens like a vice. Even the—the _suggestion_ of it makes him feel sick. Tommy and Tubbo… they’re both so young. Losing a life would be… be _horrid_. And they didn’t even do anything _wrong_. Dream _invited_ them here and now he’s—

“Anyways…” Dream rocks back on his heels, not a care in the world. “Stay on your land from now on, alright? We won’t be so forgiving next time.”

Just like he has a dozen times before—his goons now at his side—Dream turns, walks a few steps into the trees, and disappears. Wilbur glares at the place he vanished, as if that might scare him away for good. With the coast clear, Fundy rushes past Wilbur. He crouches down at Tommy and Tubbo’s side, checking them.

Wilbur can’t bring himself to do the same. He can’t even look at them.

This is his fault.

-

Guilt soon turns to renewed rage. As Fundy patches the teens up, Wilbur’s mind rushes. Words fly by at the speed of light. He taps his foot impatiently against the floor.

Once Tommy and Tubbo are put back in once piece, Wilbur gets to work. He writes furiously, passion burning brighter than ever before. This was a step too far. There is no going back now. Independence or death.

With a little help from the others, Wilbur drafts up their document. At his side, Fundy works to scribble a copy onto another piece of paper. Once both are finished and signed, Wilbur holds the spare to a candle. It vanishes in a puff of smoke.

It is done.

-

_DECLARATION OF INDEPENDANCE_

_Signed:_

_Wilbur Soot_

_Tubbo__

_TommyInnit_

_ERET_

_fundy_

_Forever the nation of the DreamSMP have cast great sins upon our great land of the hto dog van._

_They have robbed us. Imprisoned us. Threatened us. Killed many of our men._

_This time of tyranny ends with us._

_This book declares that the nation which shall be henceforth known as L’Manberg is separate, emancipated and independent from the nation of DreamSMP._

_The union of the masters of men. Together we are one. When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one to dissolve the bonds which bind us. Disregarding of this truth is nothing short of tyranny._

_WE HOL THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF EVIDENT. THAT ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL. _

_The right of the people exists above the right of the king. The right of the government and right of the economy._

_From the hto dog van we shall prevail._

_Life. Liberty. And the pursuit of victory._

-

Hardly a few minutes after the declaration is sent, their response is received. A piece of parchment appears in a flash of flame in front of Wilbur. It falls to the table. All around him, his comrades breathe in sharply. Tension rises among them.

Wilbur does not falter. He takes the parchment in steady hands and reads aloud.

-

_Declaration Of War_

_Sometimes you just gotta kill some people sometimes yaknow_

  * _Sun Tzu_



_Dream SMP declares war on la’manburg_

_JOINT RESOLUTION_

_\--PUNZ_

_\--SAPNAP_

_\--DREAM_

_\--GEORGENOTFOUND_

_-_

_“Tommy… and Wilbur. And the rest of L’manchildberg. We are at war. There is_ no _mercy. We have burnt down Tubbo’s house, we have planted TNT cannons around your land. We have cobblestone walled the outside. And we have shot_ one _warning shot inside your walls._

 _We have NO MERCY! NO MERCY FOR YOU! We will burn down your houses. We will kill everything inside your walls. And we will take back the land that is rightfully ours._ If _you do not surrender._

_I want to see WHITE FLAGS. WHITE FLAGS OUTSIDE YOUR BASE. BY TOMORROW. AT DAWN. OR YOU ARE DEAD.”_

-

A flaming hour lodges itself into the ground at Wilbur’s feet. Disrupted dirt flecks smatter against his boots. Smoke is already acrid on the dawn air. Wilbur lifts his head high, gazing between the dark figures crouched on the walls. They’re surrounded.

“Gentlemen.” Wilbur’s voice betrays no fear. “How are you?”

“Good.” Dream also sounds eerily calm. Though, Wilbur figures he has more reason for it. His armor glows in the low morning light. His silhouette is laden with more weapons than all of L’manberg combined.

There’s a scuffling in the van behind him. Tommy no doubt trying to get involved. He never has been good at minding his own business. Or following orders. Or—most things, really. But he’s all Wilbur has.

Wilbur has to trust him.

“Do you like the view of our nation?” Wilbur asks loudly.

Dream shrugs one shoulder. “Mistook it for the local dump, actually.”

“Very funny. Listen. It seems you have gained an upper hand in peacetime. We will meet you in the field. But on our own terms.”

Behind him, Tommy shouts his affirmations. Wilbur can’t decide whether he wants to laugh or throttle the child. He settles for keeping his expression blank—hoping he looks stern rather than exhausted.

Now, Wilbur is no fool. He knows damn well that Dream and his goons could simply slaughter them all where they stand. They have the resources. They have the aggression. And they have a butthurt, egotistical, bloodthirsty man leading them.

But the thing about Dream is that he doesn’t want a massacre. Not like this, at least. If there’s one thing Wilbur has learned watching Dream and Tommy squabble, it’s that this is all a game to Dream. Their belongings, this land, their _lives_. It is all entertainment for him.

And so, Dream obliges.

Dream decides he will play the game.

-

A fresh bowstring draws taut. The end of an arrow lit. And the first horror of war set into motion.

There’s a distant, barely audible hissing. Then, a horrid crack. Grass begins to cave in on itself, as quick and unforgiving as the distant river. In only a moment, the ground disappears under their feet. Dust and smoke begin to blot out the sun.

Wilbur runs on instinct alone.

His feet slip and slide under him as he runs towards the embassy. He thinks it a miracle he’s able to stay upright. Along the way, he grips onto Tubbo—dragging him along. They duck inside the embassy’s flimsy walls.

Somehow, they all escape with hardly any injuries at all.

Lucky, Wilbur decides. They are very, very lucky. With the way things are looking, they’re going to need a lot more of that…

Dream has it all planned out. Meeting outside the embassy wasn’t planned. Wilbur picked it. Thought it would give him the upper hand. But Dream… apparently, he was five steps ahead, just as always.

Fire rains down on them. Arrows lodging into the doorway, the windows, bouncing off their armor. The embassy begins to fill with smoke. Outside, Wilbur can hear the cackles of Dream’s goons. They’re enjoying this.

Wilbur’s men try to run. Retreat down to the sewers, maybe escape to L’manberg. Make their final stand on their own territory. On their own terms. Wilbur doesn’t let them. He tells them to meet the challenge head on. For some reason, they listen.

From there, Wilbur doesn’t think.

Doesn’t think about why Dream chooses to retreat when they clearly have the upper hand. Doesn’t think about how easy it is to move from the embassy to the tower. Doesn’t think about why Dream would choose to retreat entirely.

Wilbur doesn’t about anything until it’s too late.

-

Throughout his life, Wilbur thinks he’s felt a lot of things.

Happiness, joy, warmth, carelessness. Sadness, pain, jealousy, guilt. Anger, disgust, resentment, annoyance. Hopelessness. He’s experienced all of it vividly. And still it is clear enough in his mind for the feelings to be resurrected.

But, throughout it all, he’s never quite felt the cold string of betrayal before.

Perhaps that is why. Why he is so naïve to trust, and listen, and _believe_. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t think twice when Eret leads them back to L’manberg. Down a dark, cramped hallway.

Maybe that’s why he so readily leads his brothers, and his own son, into their demise.

Wilbur has always prided himself on his ability with words. It’s always what he’s excelled at. But what he feels exactly when Eret presses that button, when the walls open to their enemies… he’s not sure that is something that could be put into words.

It’s all a blur to him.

All he sees is glowing armor, fiery blades, and… blood. And there’s… the screams of the… the _children_ he has led into all this. And Wilbur feels cold— _so_ very, very cold.

His mind rings with those words. Playing on repeat to taunt him.

“ _It was never meant to be_.”

-

They meet back in the van, trying to regroup. They patch their wounds and try to come to terms with it. Try to figure out how to… to do this. Any of this…

They have nothing left. Nothing at all. Dream took it all. But of course, he couldn’t just end it. _End them_ , there in that room. No, he likes to play with his food. Prolong their suffering, their torment, their _hurt_.

This is all a game to him. And he’s not ready to be done. He wants more.

But Wilbur… Wilbur knows. They have brushed too close with death. He can’t let any of those kids give up a life for him. He _won’t_. This has to end. Before they get hurt, he has to end it. Even if it means giving up everything…

-

“I can’t believe you’d put up our own men against us.” Wilbur’s voice is calm, distant. He doesn’t know _why_.

Beside him, Dream laughs. “All is fair in war.”

The sun is rising once again, the sky brightening on the horizon behind them. They stand together, surveying the remains of the embassy. Of Tommy’s ruined home. The masked man is eerily calm. Though, Wilbur supposes he seems that way too.

Maybe they’re both just broken, deep down.

“You and your men have done great wrongs against my people, Dream.” Wilbur begins. “I—I let it go. I let it slide… on the condition that we would have emancipation from you. We’d have our freedom. And we wouldn’t have to… reach a point of uh, disagreement. And obviously that hasn’t set well with you. We’ve both suffered a lot of losses, my side a little— _a little_ more heavily—”

“Gentlemen.”

Wilbur shuts his eyes, sighing through his nose. The last thing he wants—the _last thing he needs right now is_ —

“Tommy. Leave.”

The teen grunts, barely containing his anger. “I—I’m—”

“Tommy, you are dismissed.” Wilbur turns back to glare at him.

Of course, the demon child has never listened to him. Not when it actually mattered.

“You _son of a bitch_ —” Tommy storms past Wilbur, getting in Dream’s face. The masked man doesn’t move a muscle—completely unaffected. “ _Why_ would you do that?!”

“Tommy!” Wilbur grabs him by the shoulder. “You’re _dismissed_.”

Tommy has done _so well_ thus far. He has contained himself and his anger. He’s kept his mouth _shut_. He’s done as he was told. He’s been good—for once in his fucking life, he’s been _good_.

But now, Tommy is shaking with his anger. He stands practically nose-to-nose with Dream. Sneering down at the masked man, lording his few extra inches of height over the green man. Wilbur tightens his grip on Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy can’t ruin this now. This is their last shot. If Tommy screws this up… Wilbur just doesn’t know what will happen.

The seconds feel like hours as Tommy stares Dream down. Then, finally, his shoulders fall. He yanks out of Wilbur’s grip.

“I fucking hate you,” Tommy spits, pushing past Dream.

Wilbur can’t tell who it’s directed at. He decides not to dwell on it.

“Sorry about that.” Wilbur sighs, watching Tommy duck into the remains of his house. “I mean, you know how he is…”

Dream snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “That I do. Honestly, I don’t understand why you put up with him.”

“He’s my little brother.”

A heavy silence falls between them then. Truthfully, Wilbur was sure Dream had figured it out by now. There seems to be no secrets in this land. None that can be kept from _him_ , anyways. But Dream’s stillness causes Wilbur to rethink that.

Maybe he really didn’t know.

Somehow, it makes Wilbur feel a bit better. Having outwitted him, just this once.

Tommy comes back out of the remains of his house a moment later. Had to fetch something from his chests, probably. Thankfully, all he does is give Dream a nasty glare on his way out. Then he trudges back towards L’manberg. Wilbur sighs in relief.

“Look, Dream… I’m here to make a negotiation with you. We don’t wish for bloodshed. We don’t wish for—for _war_. We don’t wish to show our power in anyway. We just want freedom.”

Dream is quiet for a moment, watching the sun behind rise behind Wilbur. He taps his finger slowly against the sleeve of his green sweatshirt. At times like these, Wilbur wishes he would show his face. Wishes to know what was going on behind his eyes.

Then maybe he’d know if he has reason to hope or not.

“Would you like to know what I want?” Dream asks.

“What do you want, Dream?” Wilbur obliges.

“I want white flags of surrender up inside your land.”

Another silence hangs between this.

“It—it seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Well…” Dream shrugs. “I will tell you this. If that doesn’t not happen within the next thirty minutes, I will blow up all of L’manberg. I have the—”

“You don’t—You don’t have the power or the capacity to blow up L’manberg.”

Dream chuckles to himself. “Okay. Let’s go to it. Let’s go right now.”

It has to be a bluff. It has to be. Wilbur _knows_ that.

Even so, as Dream leads him back towards the familiar black walls, Wilbur can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

The wind is chilly this morning.

-

Wilbur stands at the open gates of L’manberg, head held high. Dream stands at his side, with the Goons behind.

Fundy is there, waiting on the other side. Wilbur finds he cannot look the preteen in the eye. Not anymore. He could’ve… he could’ve been hurt. And it would’ve been all Wilbur’s fault. He can’t let that happen again.

But at the same time… he can’t give up. He cannot give in to Dream’s tyranny. He cannot live under this evil man’s thumb. Not anymore.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, limping over to the gate.

“What’s going on?” Tubbo asks quietly, staring between Wilbur and Dream as he approaches.

Wilbur sighs. “Listen. Dream’s given us an ultimatum. And I want you guys to resound with me your answer. He has said that if we do not rescind our ownership of this land, he said he’ll light this piece of TNT.”

Wilbur gestures to the thin sticks of explosives lying on the ground at their feet. Looking at the tiny dynamite, and the scale of his land, his walls, his home, Wilbur only feels emboldened. He steps away from Dream. Instead, he stands with his men, staring their enemy down.

“Now, gentlemen.” Wilbur continues, voice growing stronger with every word. “I want you to stand alongside me here. Independence, or death. If we get no revolution, we want nothing—we would rather _die_ , than give into you and join your nation.”

Dream doesn’t even dignify him with an answer. He simply steps back and draws an arrow. Wilbur lifts his chin to him. _Viva la revolution_.

The bowstring releases.

And the whole world goes up in flames.

-

It’s cold. Colder than it’s ever been. Here, right now, when Wilbur has lost everything, every _semblance_ of hope, he freezes over.

Water drips rhythmically against the hard black floor. They’re all soaked to the bone and shellshocked from the explosion. Everything is gone. They have no gear—no weapons, armor, nothing to fight with. And now their country… their country is gone. It’s a water filled crater.

Dream has taken everything. And he’s given up nothing for it.

“Dad, this is the point where you pull out the sly last move.” Fundy whispers at Wilbur’s side. He’s buried his face in the sleeve of Wilbur’s blue coat. Wilbur can’t feel his warmth. “Please…”

Wilbur lets his head drop against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. “There… there is no sly last move. Basically, we have—have such a lower opportunity here that we probably just need to accept the conditions of surrender. They’ve entrapped our land, they’ve—they’ve set up _bombs_ on our land. They’ve destroyed all our homes. I feel I would be a bad leader if I didn’t look for conditions of surrender.”

Silence follows his words. Wilbur thinks it better that way. He’s not sure what else he could say to them.

Wilbur shoves Fundy off as he stands. In the darkness, he glares down at where Tommy sits, head in his hands. The boy’s hands are shaking again. Whether it’s from rage, sadness, or just the cold, Wilbur isn’t sure. He sure as hell doesn’t care to ask.

“Tommy, I want you to come with me to meet with Dream and—and talk with him. And I want you to make sure you don’t _run your mouth_. No challenging Dream on his honor. None of that. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tommy replies weakly as he pushes himself to stand.

Tommy steels his bony shoulders, staring between Tubbo and Fundy. He takes a deep breath, and school his expression. In that moment, Wilbur could almost kid himself into thinking Tommy had grown up.

“Gentlemen. It has been an honor.” Tommy nods.

-

“You’ve done well, Tommy.” Wilbur concedes, as the wade through the river. “You were a good right hand man. It’s just a shame it has to end like—like _this_.”

They make it to the other side. Tommy does not answer him. That’s okay, Wilbur decides. Hopefully, he’s just practicing his patience. His _silence_. His _goodness_.

As they walk along the grassy shore, Wilbur hears Tubbo and Fundy following from the distance. He does not look back at them. He does not want to see the defeat in their faces.

Dream, Sapnap, George, and Punz are on a hill, waiting for them. The sun is beginning its afternoon descent now. Even so, the wind remains chilled and unforgiving.

“Look, Dream…” Wilbur calls. “I’m here to negotiate surrender.”

“Okay.” Dream says lightly as Wilbur approaches.

Wilbur nods, coming to stand before him once more. “I’d say we—we fought well, yes?”

That eerie, blank mask cocks to one side. “Uh… you could say that.”

“What do you mean you _could say that_?”

And just like that, the perfect bubble pops.

Tommy comes to life.

“ _You_ —” He yells, shaking with rage. “You _egotistical, green_ —”

Wilbur should stop him. He knows he should stop him. Things need to end peacefully, otherwise all their lives will be made into a living hell. _More_ than it already is, at least.

But Wilbur doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a thing.

“You fought _incredibly well_ …” Dream shrugs, arrogance radiating off of him. “We just fought a little bit better.”

Whatever shred of sanity Tommy had left snaps.

“DREAM, YOU KNOW—AH YEAH, YOU KNOW WHAT—”

“Tommy—” Wilbur tries.

“WHY DON’T WE FIGHT RIGHT NOW—”

“Tommy, calm!” Wilbur shouts, trying to reach for him. Tommy shoves him away, getting further in Dream’s face.

“WHY DON’T WE ONE VERSUS ONE, HAVE A LITTLE _BOW DUEL_? A ONE-MAN SHOWDOWN, YOU SON OF A BITCH.”

“Tommy, your passion with get you nowhere!” Wilbur snaps. But of course, Tommy doesn’t listen. Not when it matters. _Never_ when it matters.

“YOU EGOTISTICAL SON OF A BITCH. YOU SELF OBSESSED GREEN BASTARD.”

Finally, Tommy takes a breath, pointing a shaking finger in Dream’s face.

“You’ve blown up all of our shit, Dream. So, what do you have to lose? Let’s do it! Alright, I don’t care. In front of _everyone_ , alright?”

“What was the _one thing I asked_?” Wilbur hisses, stepping back and pulling on his hair. “What was the _one thing I asked you to do, Tommy?”_

“You know I have to do this.” Tommy glares back. “You know I’ve got to.”

For a moment, they have a glaring contest. Wilbur doesn’t back down. But neither does Tommy. That’s how he was raised, after all. The kid grew up with three stubborn sons of bitches as his only role models. Wilbur doesn’t know why he’s still so surprised by him.

“Look, Dream…” Tommy only looks away to glare at Dream again. “A one versus one for L’manberg. Me versus you, alright?”

“Tommy, this isn’t worth it—”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Tommy snaps. “Just be quiet for once!”

“Your life is worth more than the revolution!”

“Wilbur look! Look around us!”

Wilbur looks back at Dream, holding a placating hand out. “This man doesn’t speak for me—”

“I’ll do it.” Dream shrugs.

The whole group is stunned into silence then. Wilbur looks between both Tommy and Dream for a moment. The two are only staring at each other. Tommy with his brow furrowed impressively. Dream seemingly blank—just as always.

It all falls into place for Wilbur then.

This was never about L’manberg. Not really. Tommy just wanted an excuse to fight Dream. And Dream? He just wanted an excuse to torment Tommy. Neither of them cares about this. Neither are fighting for or against Wilbur’s dream.

This is about them. It always has been. It always will be.

“If—If this is something you’re willing to do, and Tommy is willing to do then…” Wilbur sighs. “Then I will—I will let it happen.” 

“If you win,” Dream says only to Tommy. “You can have independence, okay? But if you _lose_ … you don’t get independence. _And_ I get mellohi.”

The disc. That _stupid fucking disc_ —

Tommy’s expression falters. Doubts rush in, all at once. Giving up his discs is like giving up his pride. And L’manberg? L’manberg is nothing but a crater. It’s just the game board for Tommy and Dream to scuffle over. Tommy doesn’t care enough to give up a disc. _That_ , Wilbur knows for certain.

“The disc?” Tommy asks quietly, thoughtfully.

Wilbur crosses his arms, raises his chin. Waits for his younger brother—the boy he practically raised—to turn his back on Wilbur’s dream. But, after another quiet moment, Tommy straightens his posture, just to stare down at Dream a tiny bit more, and nods.

“Deal.”

-

They walk to the duel during sundown.

It’s just the two of them now. Tommy is hunched over beside him, clutching onto the bow Fundy gave him. His fingers worry along notches in the wood and along the leather grip. Wilbur keeps his eyes forward.

Suddenly, it seems as though Tommy is a little kid again. Unsure and _scared_. Scared over every little shadow, every little doubt.

“What happens if I miss?” Tommy rushes. “What happens if I _miss_?”

“Tommy, this was your condition.” Wilbur’s voice is harsher than maybe it should be. Truthfully, he’s just numb. “I told you, your passion and your _fire_ and your heart is—it’s brilliant for the war. But it’s not _good_ in these situations. You’ve—”

The path crests a hill. They look down at the dueling grounds. Already there is a crowd. Tubbo and Fundy. Sapnap and George. Eret and Punz and Purpled looking on. And Dream, standing across from them on the path. Armor off. Bow in hand.

Wilbur lets out a shaky, empty laugh. “Oh my gosh, you have… You’ve really got yourself in a mess.”

“Do I shoot him Will, or do I aim for the skies?” Tommy whispers, sounding smaller than the day they met.

Wilbur sighs. “I want you to do whatever your heart says you should do.”

He puts his arm around Tommy’s shoulders then, squeezing him gently. He hopes it says what he can’t right now. He hopes Tommy knows everything he keeps to himself.

Tommy inhales sharply, nodding to himself. Before Wilbur’s eyes, he goes from being his annoying little brother, to a headstrong young man—ready to fight for what he believes in. Wilbur wishes he could put his faith in it. Wishes he could believe in _Tommy_.

“Alright Dream.” Tommy steps out of Wilbur’s grip, marching towards his opponent. “Let’s go.”

Wilbur sidles over to join the crowd. Tubbo looks up at him, fear in his eyes. Fundy cowers behind him. Wilbur doesn’t pay either of them mind. This is Tommy’s fight. He chose this. It’s up to him.

“Alright, gentlemen.” Wilbur calls. “Please shake hands.”

Wilbur’s heart pounds in time as he counts their paces. It’s impossible to miss the trembling of Tommy’s hands as he pulls back his bowstring. Dream, meanwhile, keeps his face to the ground. Completely unfazed. He’s always like that.

Wilbur decides then he really, truly hates him.

“Eight… Nine… Ten paces, fire.”

Tommy whips around in an instant, arrow flying strong. Dream ducks under easily, moving like the wind. He releases an arrow of his own. Tommy leaps into the river to avoid it. The crowd is making noise behind Wilbur, but he can’t hear any of it.

The world seems to slow as Dream pulls back his bowstring once more. Wilbur feels like he can hear every creak of it. Feel every fiber of the string against his skin. The tension of the wood seems to seep into Wilbur’s bones. He can’t breathe.

Tommy swims under the bridge, resurfacing. He lets off another arrow. It hardly gets close to Dream. Doesn’t even graze the air beside him. Dream straightens up, firm and strong.

He lets his arrow fly.

It feels as those Wilbur’s own heart is gouged out as it finds its target.

The sound of Tommy’s body hitting the water is deafening. Wilbur watches the river ripple around him—it feels like years pass. His limp shadow sinks.

It’s cold.

Beside Wilbur, Tubbo screams. The sound manages to bring Wilbur back to reality. There’s the deafening sound of cheers behind them. As Dream’s victory is celebrated. As Tommy’s life fades.

Tubbo rushes into the water. Wilbur finally notices the tears streaming off his cheeks. He reaches Tommy. Grips his arm, just in time for it to begin to disintegrate. Wilbur can’t focus on Tubbo then. Only the sight of Tommy falling apart, turning to light and flickering out into the dead night air.

There’s a pressure on Wilbur’s side. Fundy is gripped onto him again. Pressing his face into Wilbur’s ribs. There’s another wet spot growing on his coat. Fundy is shaking. And yet, Wilbur can’t comfort him. Can’t even pat his head.

He just stands there, watching as Tubbo desperately tries to grip onto the bits of Tommy soaring into the sky.

“It has been settled.” Dream’s voice sounds as if it’s miles away.

Yes, Wilbur decides. That it has.

He can’t bear to watch Tubbo cry and struggle anymore, so he clears his throat.

“Come on, men.” Even Wilbur’s own voice seems distant. “Let’s go get him.”

He barely feels it when he begins walking. His mind is blank. His chest is empty. He doesn’t know what he feels. Doesn’t know if he’s really feeling anything at all.

“Hey, we’re not done—” Sapnap begins, voice sharp.

“Have some sympathy!” Fundy’s pitchy voice snaps. “That’s his _brother_.”

There are no more protests after that.

Together, Wilbur, Fundy, and Tubbo walk to the embassy. As they go to retrieve Tommy. None of them speak. The only sound is of Tubbo’s quiet sniffling, and water hitting the ground as his soaked clothes leak.

Wilbur’s chest sinks even further as Tommy’s home comes into view.

There’s a distant coughing. Tubbo perks up. Fundy sidles closer to him, clutching at Tubbo’s sleeve. Wilbur straightens his posture. Forces himself forward.

They come to the edge of the crater. He looks down.

There he is.

Tommy sits in a small pool of water, drenched and spluttering. There are no wounds on him. Only a small trickle of blood on his forehead. Wilbur keenly doesn’t linger on it.

“Tommy.”

The boy jumps, nearly out of his skin. He looks up, blue eyes wide and—scared. Once again, he looks terribly small. Just like he used to. Just like when he was young, and dumb, and—

“Wilbur,” Tommy croaks. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

It sounds harsher than Wilbur intends it to. But it shuts Tommy up. So, that’s good enough, he thinks.

Tommy is here.

That’s good enough.

Of course, they are given no peace. Not even a moment for Tubbo to speak. Or Fundy. Or for Tommy to say more.

“Good, you’re here.”

Wilbur glances over his shoulder, lip curling. Dream and all his goons are there. Still armed to the teeth and smiling like sharks. Anger boils in Wilbur’s stomach.

Dream didn’t even hesitate. After all he’s done to them. After all the pain and torment he has gifted Tommy. After he had already taken _everything_. Even _knowing_ — _knowing_ that Tommy is his brother… Dream didn’t think twice.

He took one of Tommy’s lives. And he doesn’t even have the decency to seem sorry about it.

Dream steps forward, glancing over the edge of the pit to stare down at Tommy.

“Now, I’m expecting mellohi to be given to me.” Dream continues. “As soon as it is, we will cease fire, and we will revoke—”

“No, Dream—” Tommy argues, pushing himself to his feet with much difficulty. “No, no, listen… Can we talk? For one second. Just a millisecond. Just between us—this is our war.”

Dream shrugs. “Sure.”

Wilbur shuts his eyes, exhaling through his nose. After all this—after _dying_ —Tommy is still… He won’t ever learn, will he? He won’t ever grow up. He won’t ever be _good_. He’ll just always be… _this_.

He will always be too much, and not enough.

Wilbur doesn’t know if he’s willing to deal with it anymore.

-

They sit within the black walls, looking upon their nation. Well, what’s left of it.

The crater runs straight through the middle of the land. Hardly anything remains of the van. His home. The place he’s worked, raised his son, written his speeches and his proclamations…

It’s all gone.

As night continues to loom over them, Wilbur, Tubbo, and Fundy sit on the shore of the river. Wilbur sits with his boots off, feet in the water. Tubbo is curled into a wall, rocking back and forth. His eyes are still red. Fundy is laid out on the grass, watching the stars.

Distantly, Wilbur wonders what comes next. They’ll have to leave, won’t they? Obviously, Dream doesn’t mind killing them. And Wilbur only has… has one shot. One shot left.

Maybe they can still fight for it. For their land and their rights and their freedoms. Maybe they should. Or maybe Wilbur should run. Drop Tommy, Tubbo, and even Fundy off with the old man. Leave them there, where it’s safe.

Then maybe he’d… Well, he’s not sure. Maybe he’d wander. Go see the land, all it has to offer. He should be alone, he thinks. No matter how dark and cold his mind gets, he should.

Wilbur isn’t sure how much time passes until there are footprints behind him in the grass.

Unlike Tubbo and Fundy, he waits until they are close. Hovering right behind him. Then, slowly, Wilbur turns to face him. Tommy’s face is desolate. There is still a line of dried blood down his forehead.

“Wilbur, I—I’ve secured our independence.” His voice is calm. Adult, even.

Wilbur can only stare at him in disbelief for a moment. He was sure Tommy was going to come with news of a new barrage. Another declaration from Dream. More threats. Or perhaps, not at all. Two more lives taken. But instead…

“You—” Wilbur stands in a rush. “You _what_? How? What did you—What did you _do_?”

Tommy looks pained, more pained than Wilbur has ever seen. “I—I gave him the _discs_ , Will. I gave him the discs.”

“You gave up your _discs_?” Wilbur shouts in disbelief. “All of them?”

“Yeah…”

It dawns on Wilbur slowly. The warmth comes back to fingertips, his toes, the tip of his nose. A fire blooms in his chest, warm and bright. He smiles. He laughs.

“ _My_ right-hand man, TommyInnit!” Wilbur surprises even himself when he scoops Tommy into a hug.

It takes a moment, but Tommy loosens up. Even leans into Wilbur’s touch. Hardly a second later, Tubbo crashes into their sides, squeezing them both. Fundy follows suit immediately. Wilbur laughs, putting his arms around all three of them and holding tight.

They won.

Goddammit, _they won_.

-

A new declaration is signed. This time, without a traitorous signature.

The land is repaired, slowly but surely. Even the camarvan is put back together.

Life finds a new normal. A much better one, if Wilbur does say so himself.

The sun is bright overhead. It glitters off the river, and the roof of the van. Wilbur sits up on the black walls, overlooking his nation. It is small, but it is lovely. And oh, oh so mighty.

Far below, Tommy leads Tubbo and Fundy through the tears, yelling something indecipherable. They spend most of their days like that. Playing and finding ways to entertain themselves.

Or, better yet, finding ways to annoy their newcomers.

And Wilbur… he watches them, most of the time. Sometimes Dream will join him. Crouching by his side on the wall. They both stay silent, on those days. But, somehow, Wilbur never feels threatened by him. Not like he used to, at least.

Really, it ended up better than Wilbur could have hoped for. He has his nation. His people. And a whole future ahead of them, rife with possibility and hope.

He made good on his promise to Phil. His last life will not be in vain. He’s left a mark on the world. Done everything he originally wanted and _more_. Really, he has everything.

So then why?

Why is he still so cold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! i appreciate it so much. new updates daily ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back in time, back to childhood.
> 
> life through tommy's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story was always meant to be two parts, one from wilbur's view, one from tommy's. here begins tommy's story, so a look back at his beginnings. plus, immense amounts of happy tubbo-tommy feels, because we all need that. enjoy <3
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!

Darkness writhes around him, tugging at his shirt. It longs for him. Wishes to hold him, to rock him. Comfort him. But every touch brings nothing but more and more pain. It turns his skin to ice and makes him shake. But still, they continue to grab, and snap, and tug, and _long_.

He decides he doesn’t like it.

Tommy startles awake in bed, breathing hard. Moonlight shines silver through the windows. The house is quiet around him. He’s still shaking. Wetness tracks down his cheeks. He whimpers to himself, struggling out of his blankets.

His footsteps sound tiny against the floor. He makes sure to stay quiet. He shouldn’t get caught.

The door creaks as he stumbles out into the hall. He rubs at his eye, hand still coming away wet. He sniffles to himself. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he reaches up for a neighboring doorknob and turns it. Thankfully, the door doesn’t creak like his.

Tommy ducks inside, shutting the door behind him. In a way, this is rehearsed by now. He has taken these steps before. Made this journey more times than he could remember. Or care to admit, really.

He pads across the room, not caring to be as quiet now. He reaches the bedside, feeling around in the dark. A familiar lump groans quietly. Tommy feels his heartrate begin to calm already.

“Wilbur,” Tommy whines, smacking around the bed until he finds the boy’s face. “Wilbur…”

“What is it?” Wilbur grumbles in the dark.

Tommy sniffles—perhaps a bit dramatically. “I had a bad dream.”

It’s become their secret code, apparently. At those special words, Wilbur lets out a hefty sigh. The blankets rustle as Wilbur scoots back. Tommy smiles to himself. Mission success. He easily heaves himself up into Wilbur’s bed, sidling close to him.

“Night…” Wilbur mumbles, already half asleep.

Tommy murmurs something back in response, but he too is already nodding off. He feels safe here. Nothing bad can hurt him—not with his older brother watching over him.

Here, snuggled into Wilbur’s side, Tommy is invincible.

-

From the first moment they meet, Tommy decides that Wilbur is _everything_. He’s _tall_ , and _cool_ , and _funny_ , and _smart_. He can do all the things Tommy can’t, being so much younger. And Tommy is obsessed with it.

All day, every day, he follows Wilbur—clutching at his pants legs or his hands or whatever part of him he can reach. When Wilbur gets tired of him, he finds Dadza. And Dadza is busy, he hangs around Techno.

See, Tommy doesn’t like being alone much. Even in his earliest of childhood years, he knows that. Everything is too quiet when he’s alone. It’s dark and scary—and most importantly, _boring_.

So, Tommy clings. Not that he would ever admit it.

And oh, how he loves it. How he loves those early years with his family. Watching them all. Speaking with them. Playing with them. Being close, and cared for, and _loved_.

He follows his brothers on all their adventures. Techno always ventures ahead—daring and so, _so awesome_. Wilbur hangs back with Tommy, clutching onto him. Making sure he doesn’t get into any trouble. Making sure he doesn’t hurt himself.

They’ll go home near sundown. Dadza will greet them at the door, with warm smiles and tight hugs. They’ll eat together. Laugh together. Love one another. Afterwards, they’ll settle on the couch. Dadza or Wilbur will read books aloud. They’ll fall asleep, lumped together. Breathing in harmony.

Happy.

Looking back on it, that is all Tommy remembers of his childhood. He remembers the warm hues, the rosy colors. The kind smiles of his older brothers and the proud gaze of his father. The loving embrace they raised him with, each in their own way.

That is all Tommy chooses to remember.

That’s all that matters…

-

Although he’s not quite like Wilbur, Tommy decides Techno is pretty cool too. In his own ways. He can fight really, really, really good. He tries to teach Tommy too, but the child usually ends up getting whacked too hard and throwing a fight. Techno gives up after a few sessions.

But that’s okay. Sure, it’s cowardly and _stupid._ (Dadza doesn’t like him using that word, but Tommy doesn’t care. He likes it. Maybe _Dadza_ is stupid too. In fact, everyone probably is except Tommy and Wilbur, when he’s nice at least.)

Tommy still gets to watch Techno practice with the stuffed dummy though, and he likes that. Plus, he doesn’t get hurt doing it. That’s _extra_ nice. Sometimes Dadza will even spar with Techno and that’s _super cool_. Though, Techno beats Dadza up sometimes. Tommy decides that’s just because Dadza is old. _And_ because Techno is awesome.

Wilbur never spars with Techno. Not that Tommy can remember, at least. When Techno is practicing, he tends to hole up in his room reading. He never even lets _Tommy_ in. That is also something very _stupid_. And Wilbur is _very stupid_ and Tommy decides he hates him.

(Then Wilbur will show up for dinner, and Tommy rethinks his decisions. Every single time he settles on the indisputable fact that Wilbur is the _coolest_ person _ever_.)

Techno plays with Tommy a lot too! They’ll run around the garden together, wooden swords in hand, ready to defeat some monster. Techno is so cool during their games. He’s not afraid to climb things, or jump off things, or throw things around. It’s _awesome_.

But he can be mean too. Sometimes he’ll trip Tommy— _on purpose_. Or push him into the creek. Or generally just rough him up. Of course, Tommy is _super brave_ and _always_ fights back. (He tries. Then when he realizes he is severely overpowered he’ll run and get Dadza.)

When he tattles, it doesn’t seem to matter though. Dadza will scold Techno, but it never matters. Tommy can tell just by looking at the older boy’s expression. He’s always bored. Always looking for the next thing to conquer.

Some days, Tommy just seems like that next thing.

Most of the time though, Techno is really nice. Sure, he makes fun of Tommy a lot. But so does Wilbur. Dadza even does sometimes. So, that’s normal. That’s just how… people are. Tommy learns to operate that way too.

Whenever Tommy gets _really_ hurt, Techno is always there to help. Like that time Tommy tripped and cut his knee open. He thought he was gonna _die_. Lose all his lives right there. Techno managed to console him though. Even carried him on his back all the way to the house. Sat by his side holding his hand as Dadza patched him up.

He helps Tommy a lot too. When he struggles to reach something, or learn something, or figure something out. It’s always in his weird _tone_ , but he helps. Even teaches Tommy things Dadza doesn’t, like how to get around better. How to jump properly and save yourself from falling.

Tommy likes that Techno a whole bunch.

-

It’s hard for Tommy, sometimes. There’s this anger inside of him, constantly. It bubbles up at the slightest bit of instigation. It’s hard for him to control it, a lot of the time. All the time, really…

He knows it’s wrong. Part of him does, at least. Sees the hurt in Wilbur’s eyes. Or the distain in Techno’s ears flicking. The disappointment of their father. Unfortunately, that part of him is small. Tiny, really. Pretty much invisible when that anger begins to brew up again.

It will come back later though, once he has gotten a bit of a clearer head. He feels bad. A little bit. Not enough to apologize, or to say he was wrong. But it’s there. If only to make him more miserable, at least.

And he feels that way, after a typical fight with Wilbur. He’s down in Dadza’s brewing room, perched on his father’s lap. His face is streaked with hot, angry tears. His little fists still shake. Dadza on bops his leg slowly, rubbing his back.

Eventually, he will sigh. Say, in a stern but caring voice: “You have to stop this, Tommy. You’ve got to control yourself.”

All it does is make Tommy angrier, and sadder, and _more miserable_. Because he knows. He has heard it time and time again. From Dadza, and Wilbur, and Techno. Each of them has told him in different words that he is _bad_ and _wrong_.

But that is all they say.

No one ever tells him how. How to stop it. How to be _better_ , be _good_. They just tell him to do it. Just go do it, Tommy.

He doesn’t know how.

After all, he is still little. There are so, _so_ many things he doesn’t know.

And that is also the one thing he will never admit. Because he doesn’t _like_ being little. He doesn’t _like_ not knowing as much as his older brothers. It makes him feel gross, and stupid, and he hates it.

All he wants is to be like them. Why can’t he just be like them?

Every time Tommy’s anger takes over, Dadza will tell Tommy to be better. Every time, Tommy will nod. Force the tears out of his eyes. And he will convince himself he will try.

Unfortunately, there is a vast limit on the things one can accomplish on their own.

-

When Tommy is six, Dadza takes him on his first real adventure.

They’re going to the _nether_. The scary place in all the storybooks, full of lava and monsters that don’t care whether it’s night or day. It’s very, _very_ dangerous, Dadza tells him. Only big boys are allowed to go.

And now, Dadza is taking _Tommy_.

To put it lightly, Tommy is ecstatic.

He counts down the days for _weeks_. Jumps around on Techno’s bed gushing nonsense about it. Tugs on Dadza’s wings, begging him to make time go faster. Sometimes, the excitement is so much he can barely sleep at night.

Not everyone shares his feelings.

When Dadza first brought it up at the dinner table, Wilbur was quiet. Mostly that can be attributed to the fact that Tommy was sucking up all the air in the room with his yelling. But once Tommy had settled, Wilbur remained silent. Even Techno was chiming in, excited to show Tommy around the other realm.

Wilbur finished his dinner in silence and left the table without a word. Tommy didn’t notice. Not until later, when he went to go bug him about it. It’s one of the first times Wilbur ever shoos him away. With no kind words, either. For once, Tommy is too hurt to bite back.

After his crying fit, Tommy crawls into the hallway to hear Wilbur and Dadza’s conversation. Even from a distance he can tell Wilbur is upset. _Actually_ upset. Not just annoyed, like usual. He’s hurt.

“—You wouldn’t even let me _near_ the place until I was ten!” Wilbur’s voice is louder than normal. “Tommy can barely walk on his own and you’re saying he can go! How is that fair?”

Dadza sighs. “Tommy has both you and Techno to watch after him. He’ll be in safe hands. You don’t need to worry—”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not. I really don’t care what happens to the little demon child. In fact, I think it’d teach him a good lesson if he walked off a cliff and drowned in a lava lake—”

“Don’t say that.” Dadza snaps, and Tommy flinches at his tone. “He’s your _brother_ —”

“He’s a nuisance! A very loud, angry, _annoying_ nuisance!”

“Wilbur, I’m serious. That kid _adores_ you, you can’t—”

“Well, I don’t want him to, okay? I don’t want _any_ of this!”

Heavy footsteps follow Wilbur’s words. Tommy scoots further against the walls just in time. His older brother storms past him down the hall. The force of his door slamming shakes the entire house. Tommy barely holds in a whimper.

Wilbur does go with them to the nether. He’s quiet and sulky, but he goes. At Dadza’s request, Tommy sticks by his side the entire time. Wilbur doesn’t let Tommy grab his hand. He tolerates Tommy clinging to his sweater sleeve though.

The nether is _crazy_. It’s all red and _weird_ , and really, really hot. But there’s so much cool _stuff_. Dadza shows it all to him. Explains it gently, in his perfect way. Tommy eats up his every word. Takes every bit of quartz or gold or basalt from Dadza gently, carefully putting it away as Dadza and Wilbur taught him to. Every time he does it successfully, Dadza will ruffle his hair. Tommy can’t help but beam.

On their trip, Tommy once again decides Techno is _awesome_. He shows off all his special tricks. Journeys on ahead to make sure everything is safe. Takes down any threats before they even notice Tommy. It’s _awesome_.

Wilbur hangs in the back, with Tommy or tailing him and Dadza. At the time, Tommy doesn’t really notice him. Doesn’t really notice anything, other than what his father points out to him.

-

It’s hard to notice when things really start to change. Maybe it was that day, on the first nether trip. Maybe it was long before that, before Tommy was even born. Maybe it was the day he arrived. Looking back on it, he’s not sure.

When he realizes it for the first time, he’s seven. His brothers are seemingly all grown up by now. Wilbur is fifteen, and Techno twelve. They both seem like giants, like _gods_.

They both outgrow him.

It had been years since Wilbur really wanted to play with them. Tommy didn’t understand it at first. After a fit, Dadza explained that Wilbur is just… older now. He has different interests. He likes to be alone, sometimes. Likes to do other things.

Still, it made Tommy upset, but he got used to it. It was okay! Techno still played with him, still indulged in all his fantasies. Sometimes, when he didn’t have anything to do, Dadza would join them too. That was good. That was _perfect_.

Then Techno grew up too. He decided he didn’t want to play anymore. All he wanted to do was train. If Tommy wanted to spend time with him, they could spar. Tommy took up his offer sometimes. It always hurt a lot though. He didn’t like it.

Suddenly, Tommy was all alone. He still couldn’t stand that, so he tried being around his family. But now it’s so… _boring_. Wilbur does nothing, all day. He just sits in his room writing or strumming a guitar in a way that makes Tommy’s ears hurt. Techno either whacks his stuffed dummy all day or reads. And Dadza just _works_. It’s _horrible_.

No one will play with him anymore. No one really wants him _around_ either. Tommy ends up spending a lot of time with the farm animals. He feels less alone there. He can play with his toy heroes and monsters without feeling yucky. It’s funny to talk to them sometimes too. The cows especially.

Even if he hates it, Tommy learns to get by. He’s good at that. But his brothers change in more ways than one.

Things become tense in the household. Wilbur and Techno always seem on edge. They start a strange rivalry. Techno just wants a good laugh, but Wilbur… he’s weirdly serious. It sucks.

They fight sometimes, too. When Tommy was younger, they never did. Not seriously, at least. Sure, they’d squabble over petty things. But they never _fought_. Not with each other. Usually, they’d gang up on Tommy when he lost his temper, actually. But now…

Tommy doesn’t like it. He goes to his room whenever they start to argue. Hearing them yell at each other makes him feel bad in his stomach. He hates it and he hates them for doing it.

Over time, they both get crueler towards him. Openly picking fights and picking on his insecurities. They like to get under his skin. Every time, Tommy gets angrier and angrier. Angrier than he thought possible.

It hurts, too.

They’re not all bad, though. Wilbur still lets Tommy crawl into bed with him when has nightmares. Techno is still patient when teaching him things or guiding him through the woods. They’re nice as many days as they’re mean.

Still, it doesn’t stop Tommy from resenting them for it.

-

Things get fuzzy around the edges from there. It’s all a blur, really. All Tommy knows is that his brothers get worse and worse, until a breaking point is reached.

Techno is old now. He’s learned all there is to know from their father, and from Wilbur and Tommy. He’s hungry for more. More of what, Tommy was never sure. But he was oddly sure that Techno wouldn’t find it with them. Apparently, Techno knew it too.

He leaves, when Tommy is nine. No one tells Tommy where to. He just wakes up and Techno tells him he’s leaving. He ruffles his younger brother’s hair, shakes Wilbur’s hand, and he walks away. There are no tears. In Wilbur’s case, probably because he’s happy to see him go.

Tommy is simply too shocked to feel anything in particular.

Dadza knows where Techno goes. Goes there as well, most of the time. He begins to be gone, more and more. When he’s home, it seems like he’s always thinking about going back. He was always happiest with Techno, after all. Even as a child Tommy could see it.

His father still tries to make time for him, though. Still teaches him the things he needs. Tommy has trouble paying attention. It’s all being to seem meaningless to him. He’s not sure what use brewing has. Or why he should learn to make machines.

But it gives him an excuse to be with his father, so he takes it. Takes it and milks it for all he can. And it’s good. He even manages to impress Dadza a few times. That feels awesome.

When Dadza is gone, everything is quiet. Wilbur becomes more and more reclusive. Either he stays in his room—door locked—or he wanders out into the forest. These days, he doesn’t like Tommy being around as much. Tommy likes to talk. He likes it a lot. He has a lot to say and people should _listen_. But Wilbur doesn’t like it.

They eat together. Manage the land and its projects together. Otherwise, Tommy doesn’t see much of Wilbur. At night, Wilbur even begins to lock his door. Maybe he’s finally realized Tommy doesn’t really have nightmares that often…

It’s _boring_.

It’s so lonely.

-

Tommy kicks at a stray rock. It _thunks_ nicely against a nearby tree, but it doesn’t help at all to lessen the writhing emotion in his chest. He crosses his arms firmer across his chest. There’s no sound around him apart from his own footsteps.

Spring is in full force by now. The trees are full, and the ground is laden with greenery. Chunky bees fly to-and-fro. Their buzzing grates on Tommy’s frayed nerves. Even so, watching them bob lazily in the air brightens his mood—just a little.

A few days ago, Dadza asked Tommy if he’d be willing to go collect flowers. Since they’re all in fresh bloom, it’s the best time of year for it. Tommy knows that, of course. They’ve done it for as long as he can remember.

This was the first year he’s the only one left to do it.

So, he put it off and pouted and grouched about it for as long as he thought he could. But eventually the boredom caught up. And he finally realized he has nothing better to do. May as well help the old man out…

At least the weather’s nice. Everything is warm and happy looking as he wanders between the trees. Even the grass pulling at his sandals seems excited to see him. No matter how foul of a child he’s intent on being, Tommy has to appreciate that.

It’s midafternoon by now, and he’s got a nice pile of flowers stashed away. More than enough for Dadza to be happy with. But something convinces him to keep going. He wants to be the _best_ flower collector Dadza has ever had. He treks on.

Up ahead, a splash of color catches his eyes. There’s a patch of lilacs in a clearing. Tommy can’t help but grin. He rushes forward, wading through a clump of bushes—without much care for the nicks and cuts he incurs. Right as he takes the step to free his ankles from the thorns his foot catches on something.

Tommy finds his face very closely acquainted with the dirt.

He sits up quickly, groaning some colorful words Techno would smack him for. He rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the blood he feels there. For once, Tommy finds himself thankful to be alone. Wilbur would _never_ let him hear the end of it. Tripping over his own damn feet—

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

Tommy freezes. Ever so slowly, he turns around. Inexplicably, he finds someone staring back.

It’s… another boy, around his age. With messy brown hair and wide, startled blue eyes. His face is smudged with dirt. He’s dressed in an oversized green shirt—its buttoned wrong. Currently, he’s crouched at the base of a bush. His hands are stained with sweet berries.

For a long moment, Tommy can only stare at him. Finally, he finds his words.

“What the fuck?”

“Sorry!” The other boy shouts, waving his hands about. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know you were there!”

“Pay some attention next time then, asshole!”

The boy shrinks in on himself a little, but he doesn’t flinch like Tommy expected him to.

“Well, maybe you should pay attention where you’re walking…” The boy mutters quietly. There’s no bite to his voice, but the words still somehow sting. Who the fuck is this guy?

There’s another moment where Tommy just stares at him.

Then, Tommy lunges.

-

“Ah, Tommy, you’re back! How was—What happened to you?”

Tommy looks up at his father. Dadza’s eyes are wide, even startled. Stupid. Techno’s come back looking _much_ worse, and Dadza hardly batted an eye. Why can’t Tommy come back from a fight triumphant too?

He sits in front of the back door, prying his shoes off. He’s caked in dirt. There’re cuts all over his face and forearms. Probably quite a few bruises accompanying them too. Tommy thinks he can even feel a stick poking out of his hair.

At Dadza’s quizzical look, Tommy shrugs. “Got into a fight.”

“With _what_? A _tree_?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?!”

“I would, actually!”

“Well, great men never tell their secrets. I can’t reveal all my greatest tricks to you. Then I’d just be _weak_.”

A familiar smile pulls at Dadza’s lips. “Mhm, sure thing champ. Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”

Tommy shrugs again but follows as he’s led to the bathroom.

“Did you have fun today, at least?” Dadza asks, as he cleans Tommy’s face.

He thinks back to the forest, that weird boy. _Tubbo_. What a fucking weirdo that guy is… Tommy can’t wait to see him again.

He smiles to himself. “Yeah, Dadza. I did.”

-

As they get to know each other, Tommy decides he and Tubbo are a lot alike. They’re _practically_ the same age (Tommy refuses to acknowledge that Tubbo is older). They like a lot of the same things, even if Tubbo is _way_ more obnoxious about it. And just more obnoxious in general really. He’s _clingy_ too.

(Tommy is the one who goes out to see Tubbo every day. He’s also the one that will follow Tubbo around for hours at a time. And goes along with whatever game Tubbo suggests that day, unless he decides he knows a better way to do it. But yes, Tubbo is the one that clings to _Tommy_. Or so he says.)

They’re both alone too.

Well, Tommy has Dadza, which is more than Tubbo has. But Dadza is gone again anyways, so he doesn’t even count. And Wilbur… he left a few weeks ago. Tommy wanted to go with him. He wasn’t allowed.

But Tommy isn’t sad about that anymore. Because he has _Tubbo_ now. And Tubbo is alright. He listens to _everything_ Tommy says and listens when Tommy tells him to stop arguing. He likes all the games Tommy comes up with. He likes _Tommy_.

Which is… something he’s never really experienced. So, yeah. Tommy thinks Tubbo is okay. Sometimes. Maybe it’s _bearable_ to have him around.

(It’s wonderful.)

-

Tommy likes to talk. Luckily, Tubbo is really good at listening. Sometimes he interrupts, but it’s usually just because he sees a bee. Or a flower. Or a cloud. Or anything he likes and wants Tommy to like too. It doesn’t annoy Tommy as much as when Techno used to interrupt him.

Tubbo never really has much to talk about. In Tommy’s mind, when he leaves Tubbo just sits around waiting for him to get back. (Unfortunately, that’s not far from the truth.) So, Tommy tells him about everything he’s done since he last saw Tubbo.

Just like with everything else, Tubbo likes listening to him. He always gets this look in his eyes though. Like he’s sad. But that’s stupid. Tommy is here, why would he be sad? Tommy is never sad when he’s with Tubbo. So, Tubbo shouldn’t be sad either. It’s just _dumb_.

He’s too young to really grasp that his version of being alone is _very_ different to Tubbo’s. Even when he’s presented with all the evidence, it doesn’t quite click in his head. When they spend the afternoon gathering berries for Tubbo, he doesn’t think about why they _need_ to. He just doesn’t get it.

That is, until he talks about his birthday.

Just like every other day, Tommy talks about his life. In this case, his birthday a while back. How his father and Wilbur celebrated. The letter Techno sent. How Dadza cooked him his favorite meal. The gifts he gave him.

Trying to be nice, Tommy asks about Tubbo’s last birthday. Tubbo shrugs. Says he didn’t really have one. Not like Tommy did. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone celebrated it. Or the last time someone gave him something.

When said in those terms, apparently it all clicked for Tommy.

Tubbo wasn’t like him.

Tuboo had… _nothing_ , really.

In the same moment he put it all together, Tommy decided one thing for certain. It wasn’t okay. He was going to change it.

_

“Dadza?”

“Yes, Tommy?”

“I want a bee.”

“Uh… Okay. I guess we don’t have any, do we? I guess I can make a farm. We can go looking for hives tomorrow—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want a _real_ bee. I want a fake one.”

“A fake bee?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to make you a _fake bee_?”

“ _Yes_.”

“…Okay.”

-

Two day later, Tommy sprints out into the forest. As always, he ignores his father’s warning to “ _stay safe_ ” and to “ _not hurt himself_.” He’s a big boy now, he’ll do whatever he _wants_.

(This time, however, he does watch his steps a little closer. Today is extra super special. He’s carrying an important package with him.)

“ _Tubbo_!” Tommy shouts at the top of his lungs as he approaches their spot.

“Tommy!” A voice responds. He can’t help but smile.

“Stop whatever you’re doing!” Tommy demands as he rushes into the clearing. “I have something way more important!”

Of course, Tubbo jumps up from whatever he’s doing. He rushes over to Tommy, bouncing on his toes. Excitement is infectious between the two.

Tommy stands proud, hands on his hips. “Tell me I’m awesome and amazing and the best person you’ve ever met.”

“Why?”

“ _Just do it!_ ”

“Geez, okay! You’re great, Tommy!”

“That is not what I told you to say!”

“Well, that’s all you’re getting until you give me a reason!”

Tommy glares at him for a moment, but his own excitement soon overtakes him. He holds his hands out in front of him. With hardly any effort at all, he gets an item to appear. Tubbo lets out a gasp, and Tommy grins.

Then, Tommy throws the plush bee at Tubbo’s face. The other boy scrambles with it, making sure the toy doesn’t hit the ground. He holds it gently, like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. There’s a gentle, excited glow in his eyes.

“Oh my gosh!” He squeaks. “Did your dad give you this? It’s so cute!”

“Nope. I mean, technically yes, but no. It’s for you!”

Tubbo’s face screws with confusion. “Huh?”

“You said you didn’t have a birthday! And no one gave you anything! I thought that must really, really suck, so I had Dadza make this for you. I know you really like them, but they always fly off and you look super sad, so… And since I can’t be here all the time, I thought it’d be nice if you had, like… a little friend, or something, I don’t know…”

Tommy’s vigor trickles out. Through his whole speech, Tubbo only continues staring blankly at him. He thought Tubbo would be happy but… Maybe he messed up. He should’ve never done this, he should’ve just stayed home—

Before he can sink any further into his own thoughts, Tubbo lunges forward. They both scream as Tubbo tackles Tommy to the ground. Tommy is left in a daze. Tubbo, on the other hand, is laughing like a maniac and clutching onto Tommy like his life depends on it.

“This is the best thing ever, thank you, thank you, thank you—You’re the best ever!”

Tommy can’t help but grin.

Yeah, maybe he _is_ the best ever.

When Tubbo smiles like that, it’s hard to think otherwise.

-

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, Dadza?”

“Where’s that bee I made you? I was cleaning your room, but I didn’t see it anywhere.”

“Oh, it’s not in there.”

“Where is it then?”

“The forest.”

“…Did you lose it?”

“No. I know exactly where it is.”

“…Okay, Tommy.”

-

Summer passes peacefully that way. Dadza comes and goes—splitting his time evenly between Techno and Tommy. Though, the times he’s home, Tommy is never around during the day. When he asks, Tommy tells him he’s playing in the forest. Dadza never asks more questions.

Meanwhile, Tommy and Tubbo spend all day, every day together. They get up to all kinds of things. Most days they’ll play or explore. Others, they’ll sit together, watching the clouds and just talking. Tommy finds he doesn’t mind what they do. He just likes being around Tubbo.

Usually, Tommy goes home at sundown. Eats with his father, hangs out with him for a while. Then he’ll go to bed, wake up, do his chores as fast as possible, then dart off to the forest.

Every once and a while, when he knows Dadza is gone, he’ll stay out with Tubbo. They’ll climb a tree, snacking on sweet berries and watching the sunset. Once it’s dark enough, Tommy will point out stars to him. Just like Wilbur used to do when they were young.

Eventually, they’ll find a quiet place to sleep, and doze off together. Tommy likes those nights a lot. It feels like he’s breaking the rules. Doing something Dadza wouldn’t like. Plus, he gets to be with Tubbo. Make sure he isn’t lonely.

In the process, Tommy isn’t lonely either.

-

Things start to change when autumn comes. Tommy begins having to wear his jacket when he comes to see Tubbo. The other boy doesn’t. When they go looking for sweet berries, it becomes harder and harder to find them. Tubbo always says it’s fine. Tommy knows it’s not. During the nights Tommy spends with Tubbo, he begins waking up in the middle of the night shivering.

It’s not okay. No matter how many times Tubbo says it is, Tommy knows it’s not.

His first instinct is to start smuggling food and blankets to Tubbo. But he knows that wouldn’t work. Dadza would notice. He’d ask questions. Probably ground Tommy, or something _equally_ as dumb.

It seems a lost cause. A helpless situation. But Tubbo still needs help.

And in this case, Tommy thinks he does too.

-

“Dadza?” The words don’t come out as strong as Tommy wants them too. Dammit.

Dadza looks up from his book, peering over at Tommy curiously. “Yes, Tommy?”

Tommy opens his mouth, but a wave of nervousness overtakes him. He shifts on his feet. He’s a big man, he can do this. It’s for Tubbo. He _has_ to do this.

“I need your help with something.”

At that, Dadza puts his book down. Concern shines in his eyes. Tommy wants to yell at him for being so dumb and stupid and—No, it’s fine. It’s for Tubbo, it’s for Tubbo. He can’t screw this up.

“Well—Well, yeah, I’ll help with whatever you need. What’s up?”

Tommy had prepared his words. A whole little speech for Dadza where he’d pour his heart out. Maybe shed a few tears. Thrown himself on the floor in misery. _All_ the works.

But faced with actually saying or doing any of it, he freezes. It’s only in that moment that he realizes he doesn’t know how to explain this. Any of it. Honestly, he’s still not sure he understands it himself.

Dadza is still staring at him. Gentle. Caring. _Gross and old and nasty_. But willing to help. It’s not for him, he reminds himself again. This is about more than just him.

“Come with me.” Tommy grumbles, already moving towards the back door.

There’s a scuffling as Dadza rushes to follow. Tommy doesn’t bother waiting for him. He makes his way towards the forest, following a familiar path. Thankfully, Dadza manages to get himself together and is right on Tommy’s heels.

Tommy doesn’t bother talking during their journey. When too much time passes, Dadza will try to ask questions. Tommy tells him to shut up. For once, he’s not yelled at for that. Maybe Dadza understands.

It seems to take ten times longer than normal, but eventually, they get there. Tommy hops into the clearing. This time, he looks back to make sure Dadza follows. As he ducks in behind Tommy, he looks around confused. His gaze lands on the only part of the clearing that stands out.

The overturned box.

Tommy doesn’t let himself hesitate. He marches right up to the box. He taps out a rhythm now engrained into him. As soon as he finishes the last knock, the box springs upward.

“Tommy!” Tubbo shouts brightly, smiling up at him.

It takes only a second for Tubbo to notice the man behind Tommy, and his expression drops like an anvil. Tommy doesn’t let it affect him. He simply stands up straighter, gesturing back to his father.

“Tubbo, this is my Dadza,” Tommy says calmly. “Dadza, this is Tubbo. He’s my best friend. He lives out here.”

Apparently, Tommy said all the right words. Dadza’s face goes all serious and gross, before he schools it back into something warm and friendly. He smiles down at Tubbo.

“Ah, it’s very nice to meet you, Tubbo.” Dadza chuckles. “It’s nice to know why my son’s been spending all the time he can out here. I guess you’ve been keeping him company?”

Under the adult’s attention, Tubbo seems to shrink into himself. He nods lightly, eyes on the ground. Tommy resists the urge to yell at him. It’s just his _lame dad_. Tubbo doesn’t need to be all nervous and shit! This is gonna help him!

“Uh… Tommy said you live out here?” Dadza asks lightly, glancing between the two. Tommy can see the worry in his eyes. Tubbo nods again.

“Yeah, and you don’t have a Dadza, do you?” Tommy asks, a little rough. “Or big brothers.”

“Not anymore…” Tubbo murmurs, shrinking in on himself further.

“Ah…” Dadza nods, glancing around. Again, the worry is clear in his expression.

There’s an awkward moment where no body speaks. Tommy’s never liked the quiet. He makes his decision.

“Alright, we’ll be leaving now.” Tommy announces, grabbing onto Dadza and dragging him towards home. “I’ll be back later, Tubbo! Don’t die until then!”

Behind him, he hears Tubbo give out a quiet response. Whether it’s in agreement or not, Tommy doesn’t care. He just focuses on the path home. Despite Dadza following him willingly, Tommy continues to drag him along by his sleeve. Dadza doesn’t try to shake him off.

He doesn’t say anything either. Not a single thing the whole way home.

Tommy intends to just leave him at the back door and run back to Tubbo, but Dadza stops him. He tells Tommy to wait outside. For some reason, Tommy listens.

A few minutes later, Dadza comes bustling back out of the house, arms loaded with fuzzy blankets and bundles of food. He dumps it onto Tommy without an explanation. Merely squeezes his shoulder, smiling down warmly at him.

Tommy waits until his back is to Dadza to grin triumphantly.

Mission success.

-

Not much changes after that.

Except, on the days Dadza is home, he asks Tommy to say hello to Tubbo for him on his way out. It takes him a while, but soon Tubbo asks Tommy to send back greetings for Dadza. He still seems weirded out by his father. But he’s warming up.

After a few weeks of their distant greetings exchanged, Dadza begins adding something else. He asks Tommy to invite Tubbo to dinner. For a while, Tubbo fretfully declines. Says Dadza has done more than enough for him.

Tommy tries to argue with him. They have _more_ than enough food for him. And Wilbur and Techno aren’t using these blankets anyways! They’re off in the real world, doing all sorts of fun things. Without him.

Unfortunately, Tubbo has found _one_ thing he refuses to listen to Tommy about.

(Truthfully, Tubbo is becoming more and more resistant to Tommy’s… _Tommyness_. His complicity is becoming harder for Tommy to achieve. It’s _excessively annoying_ and also _very, super dumb_.)

The thing about Tubbo though, is that he’s _nice_. Very, very nice. He can only turn down an invitation so many times before he begins to feel bad. His excuses only go so far. Both in arguments and in his own mind and heart.

After a few more days of inviting him, and a bit of begging and whining on Tommy’s part, Tubbo agrees.

It is very, _extremely_ weird to walk back home with Tubbo at sundown. But it’s also really nice. It reminds Tommy of the times he and his brothers used to walk home together for dinner. Except this time better. Because his brothers _suck_ and Tubbo is _awesome_.

Through the whole walk, Tubbo seems like he’s about to jump out of his skin with anxiety. Tommy tries his best to distract him. It works a little. Tommy can’t help but feel proud of himself.

Dadza is shocked when he turns up with Tubbo. However, he quickly shakes it off, welcoming Tubbo inside. Luckily, Dadza has long since been cooking too much food for just the two of them. Some habits are hard to break.

When they sit down at the table, it’s awkward. Like, really extremely awkward. Tubbo doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He’s weirded out by the furniture and dining ware. It seems like he doesn’t want to speak, for fear of being too loud.

Dadza is just _weird_ and _old_ and _lame_. Nothing new. Though, it strange seeing him so… _off_. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself either. What a bunch of _pussies_.

Once they all get some food on their stomachs, and both Tubbo and Dadza realize the other isn’t going to bite, the tension eases. Tubbo even manages to make Dadza laugh a few times. He seems really proud of that. Tommy is happy for him.

Actually, here at this table, Tommy is just… _happy_.

-

After that, it’s not uncommon for Tubbo to follow him home for dinner. He enjoys the warm house and the fresh food. Plus, he and Dadza have started to get along really well. Tubbo doesn’t seem nervous around him anymore. And Dadza doesn’t look so constipated when speaking now.

(Deep down, Tommy knows Dadza was just worried about saying the wrong thing. Making Tubbo upset, scaring him off, that sort of thing. But it’s funnier to say he looked like he needed to shit. So, that’s what Tommy decides is the truth.)

On those nights, where the three of them can sit around the table laughing, Tommy feels like he has his family back.

-

Winter begins to creep in, shifting their world to silence. The leaves have all fallen by now, carpeting the forest in hues of orange. Tommy loves it. Loves the crunching of the dead leaves underfoot and the crisp air.

Things begin to get colder sooner rather than later. Dadza gives Tommy one of Wilbur’s old coats one day. He doesn’t have to say who its for. Tommy knows well enough by now.

Even when Dadza is gone, Tommy never stays with Tubbo overnight anymore. Staying out until sunset is all he can manage. Tubbo understands. Doesn’t say anything.

Luckily, Tubbo still comes over for dinner. He tags along at Tommy’s side whenever Dadza is home. Despite Tommy’s begging, he never follows when Dadza is gone. Says he’s _uncomfortable_ staying there, even just for dinner, without Dadza’s permission. Tommy doesn’t understand it, not one bit.

But those nights when Tubbo does come, those are Tommy’s favorites. He never stays long, but Tommy loves it, nonetheless. He even gets to show Tubbo his room. All his toys and clothes and all the stuff he’s stolen from his brothers. It’s nice to share it.

Whenever Tubbo leaves, Tommy and Dadza always watch him go. It’s impossible to miss the way he shrinks into his jacket. Dadza looks really worried when he does that. It’s clear to see there’s something on his mind. But Dadza never says anything. So, Tommy doesn’t ask.

He learned years ago, that is the silent rule.

One day, on their walk to the house, snow begins to fall. It’s only little flurries. Hardly noticeable, really. But Tubbo seems worried about it. Tommy teases him for it. It’s just a little _snow_. It’s fun! Tubbo nods lightly, but it’s obvious he doesn’t agree. He’s stupid. Besides, the snow stops right as they get inside.

After dinner, Tommy scrubs the dishes clean. As usual, Tubbo stands at the other end of the kitchen. He always waits to say goodbye. The first few times, he’d tried to help Tommy. Dadza never allowed it. Dadza also _sucks_ and is horrible.

Tonight, Tubbo is stood by the window, staring out into the darkness. Even from a distance it’s clear to tell he’s worrying. Tommy wants to yell at him. Unfortunately, he’s too preoccupied getting meat grease off the pan.

He does hear when Dadza walks up behind Tubbo though. The way Tubbo jumps slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Dadza lean forward, peering out the window as well. Tubbo stares up at him, confused.

Dadza hums to himself. “Looks like it’s gonna be a big storm tonight. Maybe you should stay here instead? I’d hate for you to have to walk out in that.”

“O—oh, I couldn’t!” Tubbo mutters. “I wouldn’t want to…”

A pot crashes loudly back into the sink as Tommy spins to look at Dadza. “Tubbo can stay the night?”

“If he wants.” Dadza says lightly.

Tommy whoops loudly, throwing his hands in the air. “ _Tubbo can stay the night_!”

Tubbo doesn’t protest. Not when Tommy scoops him into a giant hug. Or when he’s dragged down the hall to brush his teeth. Or when some too-big pajamas are thrown at him. And not even when Tommy tackles him into bed.

They fall asleep that night with their backs glued together. In the morning, Tommy wakes up nearly falling off the bed, sprawled over Tubbo. He screams when he realizes Tubbo’s ugly feet are in his face.

Dadza greets them brightly at breakfast, food already prepared. Tubbo is still half-asleep, and a little stunned. As usual, he follows Tommy’s lead. Dadza ends up having to go back to the kitchen to make them both a third course.

At Dadza’s suggestion, they venture out into the forest to retrieve Tubbo’s belongings. They can stay at the house for a few days, while the snow thaws out. Neither Tommy nor Tubbo mention the implication that Tubbo will also be staying.

Thankfully, the plush bee is left intact. Just a little damp around the corners, but nothing an hour in front of the fire can’t fix. There’s a small smile on Tubbo’s face as he places his belongings in a corner of Tommy’s room. Tommy can’t help but grin himself.

And if after dinner every night, Dadza clicks his tongue and mutters something about a big storm rolling in that night… Neither of them speaks a word. Dadza is always right, isn’t he?

-

After that, _nothing_ is lonely.

From the moment he wakes up, Tommy has someone glued to his side. They do everything together. Take every step together. Tommy _loves_ it.

Dadza still leaves sometimes. He never says what Techno is doing. Even when Tommy asks. And Tommy doesn’t know _why_. Techno is his big brother; he should _know_ why he left. What he’s doing while he’s gone. What is so much more interesting that he can’t even write Tommy back.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Because when Dadza leaves, Tubbo still stays. It doesn’t matter that Wilbur is gone. It doesn’t matter that Techno is gone. Because Tommy has his best friend. _Tubbo_ is all that matters.

Tubbo loves him _back_.

-

In the springtime, Wilbur comes home.

Tommy decides he hates him. He doesn’t care. Wilbur can do whatever he wants. Because Tommy has Tubbo now. Tommy doesn’t need him, or Techno, or _anyone_. He’s fine.

So, when Wilbur returns, Tommy doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t get up to greet him or run into his arms like he wanted to a year ago. No, he just focuses on peeling potatoes for dinner, like Dadza asked.

Tubbo, however, startles at the sound of the door opening. The heavy footsteps. The thump of a bag thrown to the floor. The silhouette and a giant, gangly man coming to stand over them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy watches as Tubbo and Wilbur stare at each other. Tubbo shrinks under his gaze. Tommy wants to throw potatoes at Wilbur for being scary and dumb and _horrible_. But he doesn’t. Not even when Wilbur glances over at him, then back at Tubbo, then back at him.

“Who’s this?” Wilbur asks, voice flat and blank and _stupid and shitty_.

“Tubbo.” Tommy tells him, trying to mimic his dead tone.

A moment of tense silence passes. Obviously Wilbur is expecting _more_. Some sort of real explanation. Tommy likes being difficult. Especially if it means he can annoy Wilbur. He begins peeling another potato.

“Well, alright then.” Wilbur mutters, wandering off to go find Dadza.

-

The longer Wilbur stays, the harder it is to hate him. Tommy wishes he would just go away again. He knows he wants to. Best to just get it over with. But Wilbur doesn’t. Wilbur stays.

Strangely, Wilbur is nice to Tubbo. Doesn’t tease him nearly as much as Tommy. Tubbo warms up to him instantly. The first few nights Wilbur is back, Tubbo raves about him before bed. Tommy beats him with a pillow until he shuts up. Wilbur is horrible and _stupid and ugly, and his hair looks like shit_. He can sweet talk Tubbo all he likes, but that won’t change.

But that just makes it _even harder_ to hate Wilbur. Because now Tubbo likes him. And they start _hanging out_. If Tommy doesn’t join in, he’s left all alone! With nothing to do! And _silence_.

So, he joins them. Makes sure he scowls the entire time. Just so Wilbur knows how horrible and dumb he is. Wilbur only teases him for it. Inevitably, Tommy will lose his cool and blow up at him. Every _single_ time, Wilbur just laughs. Tells Tommy he _missed him_.

It’s stupid.

It sucks.

(Tommy missed him too. A whole lot.)

Unfortunately, he’s forced to say that one day. They’re outside, enjoying the spring sunlight. Dadza has stolen Tubbo. For some _unholy_ reason, Tubbo has decided he likes redstone. And Dadza has _never_ had a kid like redstone before. They’re both _excessively_ excited about the whole thing.

Tommy usually sits around with them, no matter how numb his brain gets. He can only go so long without interrupting. Whining, or trying to convince Tubbo it’s boring and they should just leave.

Dadza has banned him from sitting in on the teaching sessions anymore.

Which leaves Tommy with _Wilbur_.

Something about Wilbur sitting there, so calm, enjoying the spring warmth, writing in his journal… it makes Tommy mad. Like, really, _really_ mad. Angrier than he’s been in _years_. So, he yells at him. Screams and kicks and blames him for everything.

Blames him for _leaving_. For abandoning Tommy, like it was nothing. Like Tommy doesn’t _need_ him. Like Tommy doesn’t _love_ him.

Like Tommy was _worthless_.

It doesn’t take long for his anger to turn to sadness. And for his sadness to turn to sorrow. And soon, he’s just standing before an impassive Wilbur, sobbing his eyes out. It’s humiliating. This whole fucking thing. His brother is _so_ stupid, he wishes he would just _die_.

Before he can make the decision to run away, Wilbur sets his journal aside, and opens his arms.

Tommy can’t help himself.

He collapses against his brother, hiccupping through his tears. Wilbur just holds him silently, moving them from side to side. He used to do the same thing when Tommy was young. After he had a tantrum and felt bad about it.

All at once, his hatred and his anger just fall away. This is all he’s wanted. All this time, he’s just missed his brother. Just wanted him to be here. To help him. To care about him. To love him.

He never hated Wilbur. Not really. He doesn’t think he ever could. It’s… _Wilbur_. And Wilbur is everything.

It’s in that moment, Tommy decides that there is _nothing_ he wouldn’t do for Wilbur.

It would be a very long time before he ever doubted that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading! it means the world to me. new chapter soon ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the brothers' exile. 
> 
> back to dreamland, back to the chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the part i started watching the streams real time! as such, it's very dear to me. hopefully i did it justice. i've always loved tommy, so i loved looking at things from his pov. 
> 
> i do not claim ownership of the story, nor large pieces of dialogue in this chapter. i am simply taking the wonderful story laid out by the dsmp and turning it to written form. hopefully i have done it justice <3
> 
> warning for non graphic descriptions of canon typical violence. nothing unexpected, or hopefully overboard. 
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!

It’s shocking, how fast everything can go wrong.

How quickly the rug can be swept out from under one’s feet. How fast friends can be turned to enemies. Allies into antagonists. Family into strangers. It’s shocking how a few simple words can change everything.

Tommy and Wilbur flee L’manberg at sundown. Arrows hail behind them, impaling the ground at their heels. Everyone seems to be shouting. Screaming in outrage or in triumph.

They have given up everything for their country. In return, their country has given up _them_.

The forest is rough, untamed. Tommy stumbles along in Wilbur’s sure footsteps. Everything, even his own thoughts and feelings, seems distant. Entirely detached from his being. He nearly trips on a tree root.

“Will…” Tommy hears himself say, voice cracking. “Surely not… Will. _Will_.”

He gets nothing in response. Nothing more than shoulders tightening against a blue coat. Fists clenched until they are white. And an even faster pace to follow behind. Tommy can’t keep up. Not with any of this.

Those words reverberate around in his skull. If his mind repeats it enough, it has to make sense, right? _Right_?

“ _Well… That was pretty easy._ ”

Tommy flinches. He nearly stumbles into a tree again. Still, Wilbur does not stop. Does not look back at him. Does not speak a word. He just continues walking, back to the sun.

“ _I said, things are gonna change. I looked every citizen in L’manberg in the eyes and I said ‘You listen to me. This place will be a_ lot different _tomorrow.’ Let’s start making it happen._ ”

Wilbur ducks under a low-hanging tree and jumps down a hill in two easy steps. Tommy nearly breaks both his ankles as he follows. He doesn’t feel the cuts dug into his hands. Doesn’t feel the sting of pine needles abrading his skin.

“ _My first decree, as the President of L’manberg—the_ Emperor, _of this great country! Is to_ revoke _the citizenship_ _of Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit!”_

Tommy’s foot catches on another stray tree root. This time, he doesn’t care to catch himself. He skids to his knees. Buries his face in his faces, trying to shut _something_ out. He just needs second. Just a second for this all to—to make sense.

“Oh, Tubbo,” Tommy whimpers to himself. “ _Tubbo_ , why would he—”

He stayed. He listened, when Schlatt called. Stood at his side and obeyed his every command. He didn’t say _anything_. Didn’t do _anything_. Even when Tommy was—

If Tommy was in his position, he would’ve—he would’ve raised _hell_. Would’ve used every ounce of his will and power to make sure Schlatt got what was coming to him. Right there and right then.

But _Tubbo_ … Tubbo didn’t even protest.

“We have to go back…”

Tommy looks up slowly. Wilbur has stopped some ways in front of him. He’s holding a paper in his hands. There’s a deep scowl on his face.

Truthfully, Tommy has never seen… _this_ Wilbur before. Never has he been so… angry. So _hurt_. Not even after Eret betrayed them. Not when Dream blew up L’manberg. _Never_.

“What?” Tommy asks quietly.

Wilbur finally looks over at him. Tommy has to force himself not to shrink under his gaze. He wants to apologize. Say sorry, for whatever it is he’s done. But he knows this wasn’t his fault. Wilbur isn’t actually mad at him. Not right now, at least.

“Schlatt made another decree.” Wilbur holds up the paper. “He kept us on the mailing list. To taunt us probably, that goat bastard…”

Tommy notices then the envelope on the ground in front of him. Carefully, as if it could hurt him, he grabs it. He’s not sure he _wants_ to know what it says. Not if it’s making Wilbur look like that…

Even so, he unfolds the letter.

_PEOPLE OF L’MANBERG! And TommyInnit and WilburSoot…_

_The sun rises on another chapter in our great nation’s history. The next page of the textbook. I reckon our nation needs to_ expand! _I reckon we’ve done our country a great disservice. I reckon we take down the walls._

 _EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, I’m launching a public works project! Funded by our meth lab, that we run… ALL citizens of L’manberg are_ required _to help tear down the walls of this country! Thus ends, the second presidential decree. Let’s get to work._

“They’re… He’s…” Tommy mutters. “The _walls_ …?”

“I’m gonna—I’ve gotta go and watch.” Wilbur begins marching again, this time back in the way they came. “I’ve gotta go and look at this.”

Without any other option—unwilling to be _alone_ —Tommy follows.

As they begin their walk back to L’manberg, it begins to set in. They’re not heading home. They’re not welcome there anymore. They’re not welcome _anywhere_ anymore.

They’ve lost _everything_.

“Wilbur, that’s our _nation_!” Tommy yells. “I gave my—I gave you my _discs_ for that nation!”

“I _know_ , Tommy.” Wilbur grumbles. “I—”

“Wilbur, we’ve been reduced to _nothing_.”

“I said I know that! You— _You’re_ the one that brought Schlatt here!”

“You’re the one that called the election!”

“I called the election to consolidate power! _Quackity’s_ the one who—”

“You called this election to try and show your own power and now _look at us_! Look at—No, let’s not turn on each other. We _can’t_ turn on each other, Wilbur. We’ve lost Tubbo, we’ve lost… _everyone_. Nihachu, your—your _son_ , _everyone_ —”

“Just _shut up_ ,” Wilbur snaps. “For once just be quiet, _please_.”

As much as he feels he can’t, Tommy listens. Seals his mouth shut and prays. Wishes upon every power in this forsaken world that things will be okay. This is all just… some practical joke! That’s what Schlatt does, right? He’s the funny man! It’s gotta be… it’s gotta be a joke.

It feels like no time at all before they duck out of the trees and spy the big black walls. The walls now filled with holes. Being dismantled, piece by piece. All their hard work, all their _sacrifice_. It’s been for nothing.

“Oh my—” Wilbur voice is broken. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem so strong anymore. Suddenly he seems _breakable_. It makes Tommy nauseous.

“Wilbur don’t—” Tommy reaches for him. “Look away, Wilbur.”

Wilbur swats him away before Tommy can touch him. “No, I need… I need to watch this. My son—My _son_ is tearing down the walls in front of me! My _son is tearing down the walls_ _in front of me_. The walls I built to keep him safe!”

Wilbur is on the verge of tears. Tommy can’t take it. He tries to reach for him again, but Wilbur ducks away. Pulls at his hair and paces between the trees. He’s—Oh, Dadza never taught Tommy this. _None_ of this.

“I promised him this world, Tommy.” Wilbur is basically sobbing now. “I promised him this _world_.”

“I’m so sorry.” That’s all Tommy can think to say.

“L’manberg my unfinished symphony!” Wilbur falls to his knees, tears running down his face. “My great unfinished symphony… My…”

Tommy isn’t sure how long they stand there. How long they bear to watch their livelihood be torn apart. How long Wilbur rocks himself back and forth, singing quietly to himself. It’s that song. That dumb song.

It all feels so stupid now.

Tommy feels stupid now.

Eventually, Wilbur pieces himself back together. His grief fades—replaced once more by his anger. Without a word, he stumbles back to his feet. He turns back the way they came, and he begins to walk. Tommy follows obediently. He isn’t sure what else they could do.

What happens now? Tommy doesn’t know. Wilbur probably doesn’t either. They’ll… they’ll have to live on, somehow. Make a new life, he guesses. Try and… make the most of what little they have left.

All Tommy wants to do is go home to Dadza.

They’ve just reached a plains biome when another piece of paper slaps Tommy in the face. He curses quietly to himself, rubbing his nose. He looks down at the rolled-up paper bitterly. It’s another message from Schlatt, isn’t it?

But ahead of him, Wilbur is still walking. Completely unhindered, completely unbothered.

Cautiously, Tommy reaches for the letter and unrolls it. He has to read it four times before the message begins to set it. It’s not signed. But he knows that handwriting. He _knows_ that handwriting!

“Wilbur!” Tommy shouts, unable to contain his excitement. “Wilbur, look! I just—Oh my gosh, holy shit—”

“What?” Wilbur demands, snatching the letter.

Wilbur only has to read it once. Then, his whole body goes stiff. His jaw clenches. His hands grip against the paper, causing it to tear. Tommy can’t help but frown.

“Wilbur…”

“No.”

Tommy can only blink as the letter is torn in half and thrown to the ground. Wilbur is already walking away again. But… But it’s… _Why_? It was always them! The three of them, against the world! Why is Wilbur…

“But it’s… What other choice do we have?” Tommy demands, unable to contain his anger now. “He’s the only chance we’ve got! _No one_ else is going to help us, Will! No one but him—”

“I don’t care!” Wilbur turns back to yell at him. “I don’t—I don’t give _two shits_ , okay? I would rather accept help from _Dream_ than that bastard right now!”

“He’s our _brother_!”

“Why don’t you tell him that, Tommy! Why don’t you try and get all warm and fuzzy with him! Tell me how that goes for you, because it’s never worked out for me!”

And once again, Tommy simply does not understand. They were always happy in his memories. Sometimes they would fight but… it’s been so long. Why would Wilbur hate him? They used to love each other. They used to be a family. They used to…

“Wilbur, we need him…” Tommy whispers, heartbroken. “He’s all we have.”

“No.” Wilbur shakes his head, beginning to walk away again. “Under _no_ circumstances will I allow that pig bastard to help us.”

-

“So, uh…” Tommy tries. “This is fun, right? Just like old times, huh…”

It’s strange, how quickly things can… _change_.

Wilbur only glares at him murderously. He has been for hours. Tommy has learned to ignore it by now. Actually, he learned _years_ ago. It’s just one of his many talents.

It’s strange how quickly things can revert. Echo back to a time long lost. Bring back thoughts and emotions of… a better time. A simpler time.

“Yep. Fun is _definitely_ the word I would use.”

For the first time in years, Technoblade sits before them. He’s dressed in the regalia Tommy remembers. Despite the man’s bad posture, there’s something menacing about him. An aura, not quite threatening, but not friendly either.

It reminds Tommy of someone. He refuses to think of who.

Techno’s hair is shorter than Tommy remembers, but still falling past his ears. It’s still that strange pink. Those weird tusks of his are longer now too. Nearly brushing his cheeks. Tommy has no idea how they don’t impale him when he talks.

Then again, there were a lot of things about Techno that Tommy never understood.

Even so, being here like this… it warms something in Tommy. Brings back good memories. He remembers when they were young. Or at least how he felt back then. Happy and safe and looked after.

Just a month ago, if someone had said he’d end up here, with his two older brothers, he’d have laughed. Told them off for the impossibility. But now, it feels somehow… correct.

Wilbur found them a ravine, not far from the surface. The three of them sit around a small campfire. For some reason, Techno was carrying potatoes when they arrived. Honestly, it’s not the worst thing Tommy has had to eat. Far from.

It’s clear there’s a tension in the air. Hanging mostly between Techno and Wilbur. They haven’t really spoken directly to one another. Never really looked at each other either… Tommy doesn’t know what to do.

If he can’t have his nation, he at least wants his brothers to get along…

Luckily, they aren’t actively fighting. Techno seems keen to help them win back L’manberg. Wilbur is tolerating him if only for that fact. It works well enough. And hopefully for long enough to stage their rebellion…

Tommy can barely concentrate on that though. Or even the events of earlier in the day. All he can really think about is… _Techno_. Techno is here. Sitting right in front of him. Talking to him. Looking— _really_ looking—at him for the first time in… _years_.

It’s hard not to feel giddy.

After all, Tommy just got his other big brother back.

-

Moonlight falls stiff over the trees, casting stark shadows across the ground. It’s not cold out, but it’s not warm either. It’s not noisy, but not quiet either. The night air isn’t calm, and it lacks any chaos or disturbance. The world just… _is_.

Tommy sits out on a hill, overlooking the river and the plains. His back is to L’manberg. It feels better that way. He prefers staring out into the unexplored horizon, rather than a home that was taken from it.

Truthfully, everything _sucks_.

That’s probably to be expected. He was just banished from his country. Left with nothing. Only his two bitchy older brothers for company… Tommy supposes it makes sense he would feel like this. So… _hurt_.

For a moment there, he managed to convince himself. Tried to force himself to believe that things would be okay. After all, he had his brothers back! Why wouldn’t things be great? It’ll be just like childhood!

In a way, it is.

Just like back then, neither of them respects him. Or listen to him. Or really _care_ about him. He doesn’t know why he expected differently. He doesn’t know why he’s so stupid.

A stick cracks behind him. The sound sharp and unmistakable. It springs something to life in Tommy. In under a second, he’s spun around, bow drawn taut.

From the darkness, there’s a squeaky, _familiar_ yelp. Instantly, the bow goes slack in Tommy’s hands. He exhales, trying to get his pounding heart back in order. It’s hard to stop a flush of embarrassment and anger from rushing to his cheeks.

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” Tommy hisses. “I could’ve killed you! Give a man a little warning next time!”

“I didn’t know you were out here! It’s the middle of the night!”

From between the trees, Tubbo appears. It’s hard to imagine he’s the same boy Tommy grew up with. Now, his messy hair is combed thoroughly. His skinny frame is wrapped in a suit that makes him look… mature. But more than that, there’s a look in his eyes. A glow of determination that ages him impossibly.

Learned instinct urges Tommy to keep arguing. Continue the bickering, just like they always used to. He wants to. Wants to bring those old times back. Those _simpler_ times.

He’s just too exhausted. Too _relieved_ , seeing Tubbo here again. It’s been hardly a few days, but it feels like years. Every time Tubbo leaves, a little voice in Tommy’s head whispers that he won’t ever see him again. Something else will change at the speed of light and…

Tommy sighs, letting his bow disappear so he can scrub his face. “How are you?”

“Fine…” Tubbo murmurs. “Same as I have been. Just working for Schlatt. You know how it is.”

Tommy does. Tubbo has been keeping them updated on all that goes on in L’ma— _Manberg_. So far, it’s all just been _meaningless_. Schlatt is doing _nothing_. Not scheming anything. Not working on any evil master plans. Frankly, he’s just as boring a president as Wilbur was.

“How about you?” Tubbo asks, oddly gentle. Tommy resists the urge to punch him.

“Ah, _great_. Having the family all back together… Just a dream.”

“That bad?”

Tommy huffs. “No. Not really. It’s just… I guess it’s been so long I forgot what it was actually like. I blocked out how much a prick Techno is, I think. And Wilbur’s just… being Wilbur.”

“Yeah…”

“You probably need to go talk to him, don’t you?”

There’s a twinge of hurt in Tommy’s voice he didn’t mean to let through. He flinches, glaring up at the sky. Tubbo’s frown deepens.

Tommy wouldn’t ever, _ever_ admit it to anyone. But he’s missed Tubbo. This new… _normal_ they’ve built is… it’s hard. Of course, it’s nice having him back! Tommy always looks forward to his visits. It’s just not the same.

It’s not the same as when they were little. They’d play in the forest and terrorize Will or Dadza or both. It’s not the same as it was when they first came here. Scheming about discs and messing with Dream. Marching around in their uniforms, patrolling the walls…

Even though Tubbo is right in front of him, it’s hard not to feel like he’s lost his best friend.

“Uh, I mean… yeah,” Tubbo mutters. “I do. But—But I have time! Schlatt got into a few bottles, he probably won’t be up until noon, so… so…”

“It’s fine.” Tommy waves him off, going to sit back down. “I’ve held up the rebellion enough lately. I wouldn’t want to mess you up.”

For a long moment, Tubbo stands silent behind him. Doesn’t move towards Pogtopia but doesn’t move towards _Tommy_ either. The gears turning in his head are almost audible in the quiet night. Tommy bites his tongue to keep from screaming at him.

“I, uh… I’m sorry.” Tubbo finally whispers.

“For what?”

“Just… everything, really.”

“It’s not your fault.”

To that, Tubbo gives no response. The only sound that comes is his feet crunching in the leaves. Tommy ignores the emptiness he feels. The pure terror in his heart. The anger shaking his fists, and the sadness pricking at his eyes.

Even though there’s a divide between them, Tommy still knows his best friend. Knows him better than he’s known anyone. It’s taken him so long to admit it to himself. He’s sure Tubbo hasn’t come to terms with it himself. But to Tommy, it’s clear to see. Finally, he thinks he’s accepted it.

Tubbo is happier in Manberg.

Tubbo is happier _without_ Tommy.

-

It’s shocking, how quickly things can change.

How quickly one’s world can be turned on its head. How fast enemies can turn to allies, offering weapons and safety. How quickly friends can turn into strangers, seeming to glow under the praise of a madman.

It’s shocking to watch the man you’ve always admired turn into something… something _wrong_.

A festival. To celebrate the great nation of Manberg. To applaud the great democracy that gave them such a caring president. A party, to congratulate them all for getting rid of Tommy and Wilbur.

At first, Tommy can’t believe it. Thinks it some kind of practical joke. He perches atop the tower, listening to Schlatt’s speech. Clutches onto his bow. Wishes so _desperately_ to pull the string back. Let an arrow fly. Wilbur stops him. Tommy doesn’t know why he listens.

Something is wrong with him. Tommy’s thought it for a while, but only now does he allow the truth to settle in. Ever since they were exiled, Wilbur has changed. Turned colder, and distant, and _strange_.

In the beginning, Tommy thought it had to be the grief. The harsh reality that he has truly lost everything. Every _one_. On top of that, the stress of Techno’s return. His presence seems to irk Wilbur. Once again, Tommy doesn’t know why.

During Schlatt’s announcement, Tommy watches. Keeps an eye on Wilbur. That strange… _whatever_ seems to rear its head again. Tommy doesn’t realize just how overwhelming it is until they journey home.

“T—Tommy I’ve got a question for you.” Wilbur’s voice is unusually high. “Because this festival—This is a good idea! This doesn’t seem like a bad—it doesn’t seem evil! You know? It seems like a—like a nice friendly thing Schlatt’s doing.”

Tommy is reluctant to answer. So, he simply hums in agreement.

Wilbur stops then, looking back at Tommy. It’s hard to read his expression. He just seems like he has since they were expelled. Distant, empty, uncaring. Nothing like the man Tommy looked up to.

His next words shock Tommy to his core.

“Tommy, are we the bad guys?”

There’s a strange, casual tone to his voice. A strange coolness. This is something he’s thought about. Something he’s already made up his mind about. Something he wants Tommy to _agree_ with. That’s the reason he’s voicing it.

But Tommy is unable to comply. All he can do is stare at Wilbur in shock. The man doesn’t care. He simply continues on his crazed ranting. Wilbur wrings his hands together and begins walking towards Pogtopia once more.

“Cause, I mean—” Wilbur’s words are too high, too fast to be normal. “We—We just kind of… made ourselves the leaders? And then we had a vote… and he won, in a coalition government which was completely legal. And now we’re trying to… overthrow him.

“This—It feels like we’re the bad guys, Tommy. This doesn’t feel correct. Tommy, am I villain in this story? Am I the villain in your history?”

For some reason, the words sting. “ _No_.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we… we _started_ L’manberg. And… we should’ve won that vote.”

“But the people decided we shouldn’t’ve. On the day, they said they were gonna make a coalition. And our cockiness—our _arrogance_ got ahead of us. And we allowed it. We said yes, coalition governements _are_ allowed. Now, here we are, trying to overthrow them.”

Somehow, they’ve made it to Pogtopia. Wilbur stops at the hill, turning to him. In the moonlight, there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. One Tommy has never seen. Not on _him_.

In this light, he looks like Techno.

“But Tommy I—I want to say something to you.” Wilbur begins again, and Tommy’s stomach sinks. “Okay, me and you, we both agree we’re right. We’re in the right here, aren’t we?”

“Well, I mean… yeah,” Tommy tries, his words distant. “I’m—I’m always in the right, so…”

“Then let’s be the bad guys.”

That sinking in his stomach has spread. Dragging down his lungs, his limbs, his head. Everything feels foggy. This isn’t Wilbur. This isn’t _supposed_ to be Wilbur.

Wilbur is supposed to be his… his brave big brother! The one who always kept him out of trouble. Obeyed Dadza’s rules to the letter. Made sure Tommy never got hurt, never got himself into danger. That’s who Wilbur is _supposed to be_.

This isn’t him.

“Tommy, what—why not?” Wilbur continues, a dangerous grin poking at his lips. “Why _not_? Look it’s—Our nation’s gone! Our nation’s far behind us, Tommy. Let’s… Let’s _blow that motherfucker to smithereens._ Let’s blow the whole thing—”

“Wilbur are you, are you _thinking_ —”

“ _Tommy_ , I say if we can’t have Manberg, _no one_ —NO ONE can have Manberg!”

This is all wrong. All wrong, it’s just—Wilbur _loves_ that place. Loves it more than Tommy, or Tubbo, or Techno, or even _Fundy_. He cared for it above all else. Above _everything_ in his entire life. He wouldn’t… He _shouldn’t_ —

“No, Wilbur I—” Tommy stumbles over his words. “I think we can _do_ this. I think we can take it back, because—”

Wilbur doesn’t care. Wilbur continues. “I think this is a _new era_. We burn the place to the _fucking_ ground. I want _no_ crops to grow there ever again. I want the _entire_ place—

“No, _no_ —”

“I want it all gone!”

“Wilbur…”

“Tommy, let’s be villains.”

It’s too much. All at once, it becomes overwhelming. His head is _hurting_ , his heart is heavy. Everything seems to be swaying around him. Nothing about this is right. It’s all just _wrong_. Wrong and bad and—and…

“Can I have a minute to think?” The words are weak.

Even so, he manages to push past Wilbur, digging his way into Pogtopia and ducking inside. Wilbur follows swiftly at his feet. Despite himself, his heart pounds. He doesn’t feel safe here anymore. He doesn’t feel safe with _Wilbur_ anymore.

“Think about what?” Wilbur demands, following him down the stairs. “Think about _what_? You’ve had a minute. You’ve had—You’ve had days, weeks, _months_ to think about this!”

“I didn’t—I don’t—You’re just not thinking straight. It’s—It’s not too far gone. There’s a reason that I gave up my discs. There’s a reason you spent every waking moment working on that place. It—It isn’t too far gone. We can restore it! We _can_ build it back to its former glory. You don’t have to just… _decide_ that it’s over now. You’re being _reckless_ , Wilbur. You’re being reckless.”

“What’s the point, Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice is low and slow. “What’s the point in rebuilding this entire place from scratch. Like, do you know how much _blood_ was shed to _get_ L’manberg to the point it was at?”

Of course he does. _Tommy_ is the one who paid most of that blood. He’s the one who gave up a life for that nation— _no one_ else. He gave up his discs. He gave _everything_ he had for Wilbur’s dream.

And here he is. Still talking to Tommy like he doesn’t understand anything. Like he’s too young and stupid to understand. Like _he’s_ not the one who made _just_ as many sacrifices as Wilbur.

No matter what, Wilbur will always look at him like a _child_.

“You know what would happen, if we managed to get L’manberg back again?” Wilbur continues. “ _More_ blood would be shed, and we would be the _illegitimate_ rulers. The _only_ reason Dream is working with us is the fact that we’re the enemies of his enemies. That’s all it is!”

“No, _no_. Wilbur, the reason we _made_ L’manberg in the first place was to get away from it. The _reason_ that we went through the _bloodshed_ and the—the _pain_ was because we needed L’manberg. And if there isn’t L’manberg, then what’s the _point_ in this?”

A crude smile takes Wilbur’s face then. His eyes harden the way they always do. Whenever Wilbur decides he’s got it all figured out. Formed his perfect, _degrading_ image of Tommy in his mind. Tommy’s fists curl.

“I know why you’re doing this, Tommy.” His voice is like ice. He laughs emptily. “I know, I see it in your eyes! I see it! I can _hear_ it in your voice. TommyInnit, you’re scared.”

Wilbur takes a few steps forward then, lording himself over Tommy. Tommy stares forward, at his chest, unwilling to meet his eyes. His heart is pounding in his throat. His shoulders are tight, braced for an impact he know won’t come.

Wilbur has never fought with fists. He uses _words_ to destroy those he wants out of the way. Apparently, Tommy has gotten in his way for the last time.

“Tommy, when I said you’re never gonna be president, you gotta understand. That wasn’t a _challenge_. That’s true. You’re _never_ gonna be president, Tommy. And I can _hear_ it in your voice. You’re trying to _sound_ like you know what you’re doing, so that you can prove me wrong.

“None of us know what we’re doing. We’re fucked. We were fucked the minute we were thrown out. Cause Schlatt knows! He’s a smart man. He knows that if we _fight_ him, _even_ if we beat him, we’ve lost.

“But you know what? In time a like this, when a man has nothing to lose, do you know what that means? It means we can do what we want. We have a man on our side who literally rigged our nation with TNT. We can do the same to them. We can _rig_ this festival with TNT, we can _kill_ them _all_.”

The words, the _images_ , smack Tommy in the face. He stumbles away from Wilbur. There’s a crooked smile on the man’s face. He looks empty. He looks _insane_.

“No, _no_ , _no—”_

“Tommy, literally, have you not noticed? Everyone who’s claiming to be on our side, they’re lying to us! Tubbo? He’s _lying to you_ , man! He—He would _drop_ us at the _second_ he realizes we’re not the ones in charge.”

“ _Stop it!_ ” Tommy yells, breathing hard. A moment of silence follows his outburst. “Wilbur you’re being reckless. You’re not—You’re not being the man that came in as president. This isn’t the _right_ thing to do, this isn’t the _moral_ thing to do. What’s the point in doing anything if you’ve lost all hope? You’ve gotta stay with, you’ve gotta pull yourself together.”

 _For me_ , Tommy doesn’t add. _Can’t_ add.

Wilbur laughs lightly. It’s clear Tommy’s words have meant nothing. _Tommy_ means nothing. And he feels it. That unyielding fear that he is about to lose everything, everyone he’s ever cared about. So, he returns to his normal state.

He listens to Wilbur.

“Listen, _listen_ …” Tommy tries, desperate. “If you think—If you think that… that rigging it with TNT— _not_ lighting it—but rigging it with TNT will give us the other hand… If you—Look at me. If _you_ believe this… then I will follow you.”

Wilbur’s eyes find the ground, distant. “Look… Rigging L’manberg is not gonna help us get it back. I’m aware of that. But sometimes, in order to feel comfortable and safe, you have to be ready to give up things that you’re worried you might lose.”

“Wilbur… No. I’m not gonna stop you, but I’m not gonna go through with this either. You’re—You’re being _insane_! You’re—”

With that, Wilbur shakes his head. Pushes past Tommy so forcefully, the teen almost hits the floor. Hands in his pockets, Wilbur makes his way further into the caves. Further away from Tommy.

All this time, Tommy thought he’d lost it all. Experienced all the hurt and the pain and the grief he was able. But standing there, alone in a dim Pogtopia, he knows he was wrong.

He’s always wrong, isn’t he?

-

Ever since Tommy first arrived in this land, he’s had… a propensity for trouble.

Minor wars were waged every few days in his presence. Whether over discs, or slain pets, or that one time he killed Dream with a minecart. Frankly, Tommy couldn’t stay out of drama. It’s led him into some strange situations, he will admit.

Though, he thinks, the strangest of all must be this. Sitting in the back of Dream’s boat, clutching a fish bucket to his chest. Behind him, the shouting of… many people. Arrows whizzing past his face. All the while, Dream rows them along, yelling for Tommy to keep his head down.

Considering all they’ve been through it’s strange having Dream protect him.

Of course, the man’s _hospitality_ only goes so far. The bastard leaves Tommy in the middle of L’manberg—he even _called_ it that—armed with only his will to live and a _fish_. Not to mention a Niki, left with _no_ items, being held hostage. But _yes_ , it’s the _perfect_ time for Dream to disappear dramatically.

Luckily, Tommy is so, _so_ incredibly smart, and awesome. And also, that Sapnap is so _amazingly_ stupid. Tommy only _almost_ dies. But because he is _so_ cool—and also because he built that dumb sky rollercoaster—he’s able to get away. For some reason, Antfrost allows Niki to escape at the same time.

Apparently, taking people hostage is a great way to make friends. Maybe Technoblade _is_ right about some things.

Accustomed to being one of Dream’s goons, Sapnap doesn’t give up easy. He and his posse follow Tommy all the way to his old tunnel. The one that now connects directly to Pogtopia. _Why_ did that green bastard have to try and be so _cool_ , it’s so fucking—

To anyone other than Tommy, the tunnel serves as a pointless maze. In the dark, he’s able to hide momentarily. Though, he has to admit, four grown men in netherite armor might be a _bit_ much for him to handle on his own. And Tommy really, desperately doesn’t want to die here today.

In a rush, he whips out a piece of paper and jots down a message. It’s impossible to make sure it’s legible in the dark. Tommy doesn’t care. Not when Sapnap is shouting threats and taunts through the tunnels. Not when footsteps draw closer. With a match, he lights the corner of the letter on fire. It disappears in a rush of smoke.

Footsteps draw eerily close. Tommy skitters away, heart pounding. Skeppy’s voice echoes off the nearby walls. BadBayHalo doesn’t sound far behind. He’s running out of time. And _luck_. Why did Dream have to leave, why—

As he’s crawling towards the tunnel that leads to Pogtopia, a rolled-up letter smacks him in the face. Tommy fumbles with it. He cringes at the sound of it opening. Sapnap is too busy whining about stubbing his toe to notice, thankfully.

The chicken scratch is hard to make out in the dark, but with enough squinting, he gets the message. Tommy breaks out in a devilish grin. He can’t hold in a menacing laugh. It bounces off the dark, damp walls. Armor screeches as the goons halt in their places.

“Oh, Sapnap…” Tommy chuckles. “You… I have your fish. And I hate to say it to you, but there’s one thing I have that you’ll never, ever, ever have…”

“What?” Sapnap’s voice is closer now.

Tommy grins, wider.

“I have The Blade.”

There’s the crackling of fire as a torch is lit. Orange light floods the tunnels. Before Tommy, the four goons stand, eyes wide. Behind him, a large, warm, _comforting_ presence. Tommy lifts his head high, showing off his prideful grin.

“I was having a good sleep!”

-

They gather at noon, surrounding the lake, at the foot of the tower. It’s a bloodbath. Swords and axes swing through the air at the speed of light. Shields crack in half, leaving splinters all across the battlefield. Armor is pierced, shattered. The sky fills with particles of light, as lives are whittled away.

Watching it is like a fever dream. Techno and Dream move in ways Tommy’s mind can’t seem to process. Even staring down a militia twice their numbers, they’re unflinching. After the first blow is thrown, they’re ruthless.

Seeing them there, moving together, fighting side-by-side, it clicks in Tommy’s mind. Something about them has always been eerily similar. It’s hard to put into words. But finally seeing them together, weapons in hand, it’s obvious.

The fight is seemingly over in the blink of an eye.

Tommy stands at the bank of the river, bracketed by the warriors. Neither seem the slightest bit winded. Red stains their weapons, their gloves, their boots. Tommy is spotless. His armor untouched, his weapon clean. Even his hair is left unruffled.

“I’ll be honest,” Dream returns his axe to its place on his back. “That when a little better than I thought it would.”

“We just won!” Tommy yelps. “Holy shit, we just—”

“Yep…” Techno yawns into his hand.

“I just won a war!”

“You did absolutely nothing. You just got me and Dream to fight _for_ you.”

“But really, I was the catalyst, so I think I get full credit—” 

Tommy can’t even get the words out before Techno pushes him forward. He falls knee deep into the river. Behind him, Dream lets out a wheeze. He seems oddly lighthearted. Tommy can’t blame him. It feels _good_.

For the first time since they were banished, Tommy feels like he’s accomplished something.

Dream lets out a huff, surveying the riverbank with his hands on his hips. “Well, that was refreshing. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to stretch my legs. Been a while since we’ve done something like this too, huh?”

Tommy looks up, reply on his tongue. He stops short. Dream isn’t looking at him. His masked face is focused solely on Techno. The pigling doesn’t return his gaze. His attention is focused solely on the other side of the riverbed, where Niki and Punz are sorting through the collected weapons and armor.

“Mhm…” Techno hums, still not looking at Dream.

It’s then it becomes clear. Apparently, he’d been too wrapped up in the fight to notice it. The strange tension between Dream and Techno. He can’t help but scowl.

“Techno, you’ve never been here when Dream’s visited.” Tommy drags himself out of the river, shaking his pants out. “I thought you didn’t know each other. When did you meet?”

Dream laughs, but it’s… _weird_. Tommy stares at him in disbelief. Beside him, Techno sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s a long story…” Techno mutters.

“One I’m sure _Techno_ will be happy to relay.” Dream smacks the pink-haired man on the shoulder. Techno glares over at him in response. “For now, I should go talk to Sapnap. Make sure he’s not too butthurt about me killing him.”

There’s a strange casualness to his voice when he says that. Like it’s simply no big deal to him. As if a real friendship wouldn’t mind a little casual backstabbing. Like losing a life is no _big deal_.

Though, Dream did take one of Tommy’s lives, and here they are.

With another slap to Techno’s shoulder, and a ruffle of Tommy’s hair, Dream begins making his way back through the forest. Without a word, Punz follows behind him. Tommy can’t help but stare after him for a while.

“How do you know Dream?” He asks Techno.

“Don’t ask.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

That’s always what it ends up being, doesn’t it? After all these years, he should’ve learned. His brothers’ business is not something for him to meddle in. He should keep his questions to himself.

When Techno begins walking away, back to Pogtopia like always, Tommy finds his voice.

“Thanks, Techno.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Techno grunts.

That’s good enough for now, Tommy decides. He settles at the edge of the riverbank, eyes on the slowly darkening sky. Clouds pass calmly above. The world seems to have settled once more. Everything is… okay again.

They won.

For a while, Tommy stays right there. Enjoying the victory. Reveling in the attention gifted to him by Techno and Dream. Keenly trying not to think about what their connection might be.

For a while, Tommy stays right there, enjoying the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading! the conclusion of the story is coming soon. i appreciate you for sticking through with it ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the festival and nov16.
> 
> war is no place for kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is it, the final full chapter! if you're here, thank you for making it this far, it really does mean the world to me. this was simultaneously one of the hardest and most gratifying chapters to write. there were so many emotions tied to nov16, it was a lot to unpack. i hope i've done it justice. please enjoy <3
> 
> i do not claim ownership of the story, nor large pieces of dialogue in this chapter. i am simply taking the wonderful story laid out by the dsmp and turning it to written form. hopefully i have done it justice <3
> 
> warning for non graphic descriptions of canon typical violence. nothing unexpected, or hopefully overboard.
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!

“I miss Philza. I wonder if he’d be proud of me.”

Tommy can’t help but startle at Wilbur’s words. He glances over at him cautiously. If Wilbur notices him staring, he gives no indication of it. There’s something solemn about the way he looks over Manberg. A sadness, even. Tommy would feel bad for him, if not for…

Still, it surprises him to hear Wilbur bring up Philza. It’s been a long time since Wilbur’s spoken of their father. Something happened between them, Tommy thinks. It’s impossible not to notice the way Wilbur won’t talk about him. How he tries to move the conversation on whenever Tommy brings him up.

It’s strange. A lot of things are strange, lately.

Tommy doesn’t have the words to respond to Wilbur. So, he elects not to. Instead, he follows Wilbur’s gaze. Takes in what once was their home, but now seems so… _foreign_.

The sun is setting on the horizon. Below, amidst the bright welcoming colors of the festival decorations, their old friends gather. Laughter warms the cool night dusk air. It’s hard not to feel jealous.

The words of their rushed conversation with Tubbo run through his mind. There was no clear answer to his question. The one that’s been sitting on his min for so long.

“ _Are you happier?_ ”

All he got was Tubbo’s fumbling. An answer meant to soften the blow. Even when Tubbo says _no_ , it doesn’t feel right. And as Tommy watches him now, he knows it’s not true. He knows that he’s _losing_ Tubbo.

It’s hard, not to let bitterness and hate and anger take over. When he watches all his former friends laugh and joke around. Enjoying the country that _he_ fought for. All the while, he’s stuck on the outskirts. Watching it all, hidden on a dark roof.

Meanwhile, he’s left with his brother, who seems to be slowly losing it. Muttering about becoming _villains_. Making plans to… to _blow everything up_. It’s just… it’s too much. He’s changed and—and Tommy just wishes he would _wake up_. Go back to normal so they can _fix this_ …

But, as he watches Wilbur rock himself back and forth, chewing on his thumb nail, he knows that won’t happen. Not now, at least. He just has to find a way to _show_ Wilbur. Make him believe that they can take it all back. Turn L’manberg back into _their_ place. Their home.

Night has fallen fully now. Below, a crowd has gathered, all seated quietly. The old podium, newly renovated, is adorned with Schlatt, Quackity, and… Tubbo. Each are dressed smartly in a suit. Someone even combed Tubbo’s hair back.

And Schlatt is… saying something. Going on, and on, and _on_ … Even when Wilbur was president, Tommy tended to block the speeches out. It’s just a waste of time, waste of breath.

Schlatt passes the mic to Tubbo, and Tommy wonders why they even came. They weren’t invited. No one wants them. And if Wilbur’s having second thoughts, rethinking his whole detonation, then _why_? What’s the _point_ in any of it?

Tubbo begins his speech. Tommy really just wants to go home.

Despite it all, Tommy tries. Tries to listen and be a good friend. Tries to root for Tubbo. But when he compares them to insects, so blatantly says things are better without them, Tommy has to tune it all out again. It doesn’t matter if he’s a spy. If he’s doing this all just to save his cover.

It hurts.

But just as Tubbo seems to be coming a to a close, Schlatt interrupts.

“I was just thinking about it, Tubbo. Y’know, we like to have fun. You got anything else in the speech, big guy?”

There’s something about his voice. His slow, dangerous tone. The way he looks over at Tubbo. Entirely blank, entirely uncaring. Not even pretending anymore.

“Uh, no. On that note, let the festival begin!”

And that’s it. That’s the cue. In a flash, Wilbur is on his feet, running into the shadows. Tommy is torn. He wants to follow Wilbur, wants to _stop_ him. But there’s something about Schlatt’s voice. And Tubbo is… is…

Tommy stays.

Watches, speechless, as Schlatt hands Quackity some concrete. As they form it around Tubbo. Watches, _helpless_ , as Tubbo is boxed in, forced on display. No, no, _no_ —

“Tubbo, I’ll cut to the fucking chase, alright?” Schlatt cuts mercilessly through Tubbo’s meek protests. “Tubbo, and I mean, it really sucks for me to say this, in front of everybody… I mean, it’s kind of awkward. Tubbo, look, Tubbo… I know what you’ve been up to.”

“What have I been up—” Tubbo’s voice breaks under the pressure. “What—What have you—What are you talking about?”

“ _What have I been up to_ , he says,” Schlatt cackles. “ _What have I been up to_ …”

He turns back to Tubbo then, rage in his eyes, his posture. Tommy can’t help but shrink down into his armor. This is bad, this is so unbelievably _bad_ —

“You’ve been _conspiring_!” Schlatt all but screams. “With the _idiots_ , with the—the _tyrants_ that we kicked out of this _great country_. _Months_ ago—Was it months? Was it weeks? I don’t even remember. Time flies when you’re having fun, y’know.”

“When you’re old and senile, too,” Quackity murmurs, just barely being caught by the mic.

Schlatt doesn’t notice. “Tubbo, I don’t know ahh, I don’t know if you know this, but _treason_ isn’t exactly uh… isn’t exactly a _respectable_ thing around here, y’know. We don’t take too kindly to it.

“I know what you’ve been doing. It _all_ adds up, buddy! The fucking _tunnels_. Your—Your _absence_ from great events! I mean you—you walked off in the middle of this one! You walked off in the middle of this one, Tubbo. Don’t try and tell me you’ve done—done nothing wrong! Because everybody knows it! I sees it with my own two fucking eyes!”

Wilbur is back at Tommy’s side now, peering nervously over his shoulder. Just as Tommy reaches for the crossbow attached to his back, Wilbur reaches for it as well. Apparently, they both know exactly what needs to happen now. Something much bigger than them is at risk.

 _Tubbo_ is at risk.

Schlatt sighs, tapping his foot impatiently against the ground. “Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?”

“No…” Tubbo whispers, shrinking further away from him.

With eyes filled with nothing but pure evil, Schlatt turns to the ground. “Nothing good.”

Tommy fumbles with his crossbow bolt. Just as he gets it locked into place, a hand grabs the crossbow. He looks back at Wilbur in surprise. Of course, he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t say anything. Tommy is just supposed to trust him. Just like every time before.

He doesn’t know why he does, anymore. He just…

“Hey, uh…” Schlatt grins. “Hey Technoblade, you wanna come up here for a second? Let’s just send a message real quick.”

All eyes turn to the pink haired man. Just as always, Techno is impassive as he stares back at Schlatt. He doesn’t seem to mind the attention. Nor the strange ask, from a man he has been asked to hate. Techno simply shrugs in his armor and goes to join Schlatt on stage.

And that is… that is _wrong_. Techno shouldn’t… he’s supposed to—to… Even Wilbur is shocked still beside him. Open mouthed and wide eyed. Tommy curses under his breath. This wasn’t the plan.

No, this wasn’t _their_ plan.

“I still can’t—Uh, Schlatt…” Tubbo tries. After all this, he still _tries_.

“Tubbo as—as the enemy of the state…” Schlatt continues, hands behind his back, surveying Techno. “And as, uh… _perpetrator_ to these _awful_ , awful people that you’ve been helping…”

He sighs, and… and he looks _bored_. There’s an emptiness to his eyes, a twitching in his fingers. Everything about him screams that he just wants to be done with this. Just wants to be done with _Tubbo_. Tommy grips his crossbow harder.

“Technoblade, please…” Schlatt gestures to the man now standing at his side. “Please. If you would… If you would be so kind.”

“Wh—What are you asking Schlatt?” Techno fumbles.

“ _Take care of him_.”

“You want me to get him some breakfast?” Techno questions, in his usual _shitty_ tone. “Get him a nice coat? What do you mean by ‘take care of him?’”

Not for the first time, and _certainly_ not for the last, Tommy just doesn’t understand him. Here Techno is. Front and center. Armed to the teeth, covered in so much armor its hard to make out his figure. Before him, Tubbo— _his ally_ —imprisoned.

Before him, _his enemies_ , unarmed and unprepared.

But Techno—He plays along. For some stupid _fucking_ reason, he plays along. Instead of doing—doing _anything_ useful. Killing Schlatt or grabbing Tubbo and trident-ing away. Instead, he stays and _listens_.

“We’re running on a uh, on a tight schedule here, so if you could just eh…” Schlatt’s eyebrow twitches.

Once again, Techno asks. “What do you want outta me, Mr. President?”

Schlatt sighs again, rubbing his brow. “I only call you in for special favors. I mean… we—we go way back, right? Techno, I need… I need you to take him out.”

Panic seizes Tommy’s throat. He looks to Wilbur, looks for directions, for comfort, for _something_. But Wilbur isn’t looking at him. He’s staring past Tommy, behind the grandstand. Into the dark _nothingness_. He’s useless, he’s absolutely _useless_.

Murmurs and gasps erupt in the crowd below. Tommy’s finger itches for his crossbow’s trigger. He should do it. He should do it right now, just _end it_. Sink a bolt straight between his eyes. Free Tubbo, take back L’manberg—he should just _do it_.

But he doesn’t. Because Wilbur told him not to. And Wilbur is always… always right, right? He’s always…

“Take him out to… dinner?” Techno asks, _stupid, stupid, stupid_ —

“ _Take him out to dinner_ —” Schlatt repeats, incredulous. “Bro. You—You’re gonna _kill him_. You’re gonna kill him right now!”

“ _Ahh_ …”

Below, shouts are erupting. Niki is particularly loud, calling her outrage. Even Fundy, one of Schlatt’s most loyal—the fox _bastard_ —protests. But Schlatt doesn’t _care_. He just continues yelling, ordering Techno to—to _kill Tubbo_. Kill him in front of _everyone_ —make it _hurt_.

And Tommy… Tommy wants to be sick. This is all a bad dream; it has to be a bad dream—

“I’d rather rule _alone_ than with you!” Schlatt spits at Tubbo. The boy flinches, cowering further back. He’s shaking all over. He’s terrified, he’s—

Of all people, _Quackity_ speaks up. Questions Schlatt’s decision. Tries to make him rethink. Quackity—the one who _gave_ Schlatt his position—begins to doubt him. Even _he_ can see. All of them can see _so why hasn’t Techno left already_ —

It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly he feels when Techno loads his crossbow. It’s hard to put into words what exactly that does to Tommy’s chest. It’s hard to even remember what was going through his mind as Tubbo pleaded with him, _desperate_.

When that first explosion goes off, it’s hard to feel like it didn’t just collide with _Tommy_.

For a second, all he can do is stare. Everything seems to stop around him. It’s just him, and the colorful smoke, and whatever is happening to his chest, his head, his— _Why_ , why, why—

Then, there it is.

“ _Tommy, go!_ ”

Just like that, he snaps out of it. Because he got an order. That’s all he needs, that’s all—The rage builds in his chest again. Grief, shock, it all falls away. All that remains is the bitter taste of betrayal on his tongue.

An enderpearl appears in his hand.

“ _Tubbo_!”

Tommy appears on the grandstand, right in front of where he should be but—

It’s too late. He’s already—already… He’s still. Slumped back in his chair, eyes closed. And his—his hands are… are fading. Crumbling away into flecks of light. Flickering out and—and oh… he’s— _no_. Not Tubbo, _not Tubbo_ —

Behind him, Techno is cackling loudly. It—He’s… he’s reveling in it. Slowly, Tommy turns to look back at him. Not an ounce of remorse shows in him. All he sees is pure joy, as more firework rockets are sent hurtling into the crowd.

For the first time, Tommy looks at Techno and all he sees is a monster.

-

It’s—It’s all a bit of a blur from there. Truthfully, Tommy has no idea how he gets off the podium. How he manages to slip away. Everything just seems to be spinning around him.

He stumbles through the tunnels, not really knowing whether he’s headed towards Manberg or Pogtopia. Honestly, he doesn’t care. All he wants is to find Tubbo. Tubbo is around here somewhere he’s gotta—gotta be…

 _No_ , this all wrong, it’s all wrong, this shouldn’t—it shouldn’t… It’s _backwards_. Wilbur and Techno they—they’re supposed to be the good guys! They—they were all the good guys… His heroes. But now they’re just—

There’s no room to think, no room for _any_ of it. He’s just gotta find Tubbo. That’s all that matters.

He slumps against the wall. How long has he been here? What’s happening on the surface? Will he ever even—

“Tommy!”

Immediately, Tommy is off the wall and whipping around. All at once the pain, the confusion, the _hurt_ falls from his shoulders. Tubbo looks raggedy, and _hurt_ , and… and really scared. But none of that seems to matter. Because he’s _alive_ , he’s _breathing_ , he’s _okay_.

Exhaustion leaves his body in an instant. He sprints harder than he has since he was forced out of L’manberg. For once, he allows himself to be clingy. He scoops Tubbo into a tight hug. Tubbo clings back, just as tightly.

And for a second, everything is okay.

-

It’s something that all his life, Tommy has never had to consider. Looking back, perhaps he should have. Perhaps there were many moments the same opportunity was posed. Different ways the conclusion revealed could’ve been reached.

But until now, this very moment, with Wilbur smiling like a madman, and Techno with his hands still covered in gunpowder, Tommy never considered it. Not until he came out of the tunnel, helping Tubbo along. Until Wilbur laughed in his face. Until Techno glared him down like _he_ was the enemy.

“Ah, look at the gang!” Wilbur cackles. He sounds nothing like he used to. Not when they were children, not even when he was president. “Gang’s all here! Look at—Oh, watch out Technoblade! Tommy’s _angry_ at you. Look at him. Look at his _eyes_. He’s pissed at you, dude. Go on, Tommy, say something. Say something.”

And Tommy, he’s always listened. No matter how much he bitches and whines, he always listens. Why does he do that? Why does he obey Wilbur like his life depends on it?

“Why’d you kill him, Techno?” Tommy asks, barely keeping himself contained. “Wh—What’s _wrong_ with you? You _killed him_ , when you asked to by the _President_! And it’s not even _your_ President! He’s just some in— _insane_ guy!”

“If I didn’t follow their orders, there were like twenty dudes there that would’ve jumped me, _Tommy_.” Techno says. “I was under _peer pressure_ —”

“You just betrayed us! All of us! You—You’re not even Pogtopia anymore. You’re just another _Jschlatt_! You—”

“I don’t know about you Tommy, but I forgive Technoblade!” Wilbur jumps in, smile wide. “I forgive Technoblade in a _heartbeat_!”

“I don’t!” Tommy snaps. “What the f—He just _murdered_ Tubbo! When the—the president—”

“What do you wanna do about it?”

“I want him to _leave_! I want him to get the hell outta here! Go be—Go be next to _your_ President! Go be—”

“You think you can _destroy Manberg_ without my help, Tommy?” Techno asks, smirking. “How well did your charge go earlier?”

“You said you were on our side! You only came to this land to be on our side—”

“I only _came here_ to destroy the government, alright?”

“Well, you didn’t do it—You just _followed_ the government! When the president asked you—You followed him! You _followed_ him!”

When they were young, it was always Wilbur who broke them up. Whenever Techno and Tommy got to arguing, both too big for their britches, Wilbur stepped in. Pulled them apart. Used his words and his mind to get them to cut it out. No matter what, he always found the peaceful resolution.

Now? Now Wilbur sidles up to Tubbo, trying to convince him to rile Tommy up more. To yell at Techno and make a scene. Now, he eggs Tommy on. Now, he digs them out a pit and shoves them in. Now, Wilbur never looked more excited for anything in his _life_.

In the moment, Tommy is too wound up to think about it. To question it beyond a cursory glance. They’ve all been sucked down into it, apparently. The thrill and the rage and the pride.

All except Tubbo.

“I’m not an advocate of violence,” Tubbo is muttering, mostly to himself. “I—I think everyone should just get along.”

“I mean, that’s very mature of you, Tubbo.” Wilbur hooks an arm around the boy’s shoulders, leaning in close. “That’s very mature. I mean, I’m sure—See, _unfortunately_ though for you Tubbo, _Tommy_ isn’t as mature. You see, that’s why he can’t be president. He follows his emotions too strongly. He gets too _angry_ at things. He doesn’t—

“Look! Look at him! Even after you’ve said you forgive Technoblade, he’s _still gone into the pit_ to fight him in hand-to-hand combat. This is a man _driven_ by his emotions. Not by… _political goals_. Look at him.”

There, staring down a murderous Technoblade, Tommy can’t find the energy to think about what Wilbur is saying. To analyze it, or really take it in. Maybe he knows it will hurt too much once he does. Maybe he realizes how it will break him.

“I say—I say T—Tommy throws the first punch!” Wilbur rubs his hands together. “I wanna—I wanna see this… C’mon. When you’re ready, Tommy.”

“You sure you wanna do this, Tommy?” Techno asks, still grinning.

Why, why—Tommy looks back at Tubbo. Behind him, Niki is shaking her head furiously. Tubbo too seems troubled but resigned. Hopefully he knows. Tubbo is only part of the reason Tommy is here.

“We can settle our feelings with our fists.” Techno continues, cracking his knuckles. “But when we come outta here… win or lose… no hard feelings. It stays in the pit.”

Wilbur cackles. “ _It stays in the pit_.”

Tommy clenches his fists, trying to hold in some of his emotion. “You killed Tubbo, Techno.”

“It stays in the pit.” Techno chuckles. He _chuckles_.

“You killed—You killed my right-hand man. And you—you referred to Jschlatt as _Mr. President_.”

“Well, I mean, he’s still a president, even if I’m not part of his country… It’s still a title, I mean…”

“ _Do it_!” Wilbur whispers. “Do it! Kill him! Kill him, punch him!”

And Tommy? Tommy has always listened to Wilbur. He lunges. His fist connects with Techno’s jaw. It brings no release. No relief to the rage building and _burning_ in his chest. But it’s gotten too big for him. He just can’t hold it anymore.

So, he fights.

Techno has never, _will_ never, go down easy. Or at all, really. He faces every fight like it’s his last. Even if it’s just facing down his teenage younger brother. No matter what, he doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t show _anyone_ an ounce of mercy.

Tommy isn’t special to him. He never has been.

The world turns to a blur of white as Tommy’s head smacks against the cave wall. He sinks down to the floor. Blood is trickling from his nose, his lips. Just a second ago, he was close to bursting. But now? Now, he’s just empty.

Distantly, he can hear Wilbur jeering and cheering from the sidelines. It’s rare he sounds like that. If nothing else, at least Tommy could make him happy.

A shadow falls over him. A rough hand grabs his hair, forcing him to look up. Tommy tries to spit blood at Techno. It only lands in his lap. Techno slams his head against the wall once more. Tommy can’t help a whine of pain.

“You killed Tubbo, you motherfucker…” Tommy wheezes. “You fucking betrayed all of us—”

Techno knocks his head into the wall again. “Stays in the _pit_.”

“It wasn’t _in_ the pit you—”

The world goes white as Techno socks him in the nose again. Someone screams—it was probably Tommy. He has barely a second to process before fingers are tearing at his hair again, pinning his head back against the wall. Tommy has no choice but to stare into the uncaring eyes of his older brother.

“Tommy, the thing is, you’re using words.” Techno is eerily calm. “But the thing about this world, Tommy, is that the only universal language is violence. And we’ve had that conversation. We’ve spoken that language, in the _pit_. It’s over, Tommy. Onto a new day. A new plot, to _destroy_ Manberg.”

With one slam into the wall, Techno lets him go. He stands, victorious, as Tommy slumps further. His presence over Tommy fades. With it, Wilbur begins cheering again. He’s laughing. There’s more joy and happiness in him than… than Tommy can ever remember.

It’s then, as his brothers leave him, battered, bloodied, betrayed, that Tommy has to consider it. It’s then, as they both laugh and smile, overjoyed at Tommy’s _pain_ , that he has to come to terms with it. It’s then, when Tommy is left by the people who promised to protect him, that he finally agrees.

Wilbur and Techno don’t care about him.

It’s possible they never did.

-

Sunrise comes, just like it does on any other day. Tommy, Niki, and Tubbo sit on a hill outside Pogtopia, watching it slowly raise. Not a word passes between them. Nothing more than Niki’s quiet apologies as she bandages them.

Deep down, Tommy is happy to have them back. Happy to have some familiar, friendly faces around. But in the moment, all he can do is stare out into the horizon.

Everything hurts. Not just his face, and his fists, and his stomach. It’s everything else too. The blood in his veins, the water behind his eyes, the roots of his teeth. All at once, it’s like he’s unravelling. Falling apart, right there and then.

Niki cleans up all the blood. Patches up whatever she can. Touches him with gentle, caring hands. Apologizes for things that don’t need apologizing for. Like a roll of bandage dropped, or Tommy wincing. It’s a small comfort, to be cared for.

One he hasn’t felt in… in…

Tubbo sits close to him, just close enough to feel. He too seems to be distant. The boy mostly stares down at his shaking hands. Clenching and unclenching them like he’s trying to convince himself they still work. Tommy hates seeing him like that. It’s better to ignore him.

Actually, it’s better to ignore everything, Tommy thinks. His entire life. Before and after coming to this horrid place. All along, he thought it was exile that ruined his brothers. But now, looking back on it, he’s not too sure. He’s not confident in anything anymore.

All he knows is that the sun will rise, just like it always has. No matter his protests, no matter how much he wants to rest. So, Tommy watches it. Holds tight to it. The world will go on no matter what.

Tommy must go on as well.

-

Quietly, he floats. Let’s himself weightlessly tumble down, down, down into the dark. For a moment, it’s peaceful. He can’t feel the pressure of an arrow in his hair. Or the weight of a war lost. Can’t hear the jeers of the crowd, happy to see his demise. Tommy just floats.

That is, until his arms start to disintegrate. Until everything begins to go blurry, before his limbs go fully numb and begin to detach. Until a familiar gloved hand reaches into the water, fingers locking around his throat.

The next thing he knows, he’s in L’manberg. Well… _Manberg_ , actually. Below, the small town is decorated with games and bright banners. There are no big black walls on the horizon. A myriad of faceless figures stare at him. He gets the uneasy sense they’re smiling.

A hand slaps his shoulder, jovial. Tommy jumps, looking behind him. And Wilbur is there. The _old_ Wilbur… Happy, excited, bright… He stares down at the crowd with loving eyes. Tommy can’t help but smile too, leaning against him.

It’s just like it used to be. Them, together, against the world. Running L’manberg, helping its people. It’s just like it _should_ be.

Another hand clamps down on his shoulder. The touch is not nearly as nice. Tommy flinches, despite himself. He turns. What greets him is a nasty smile. Pointed ears twitching with glee. Red eyes and neat pink hair, all tying the maniac together.

Suddenly, there’s concrete around him. Yellow walls, seeming to soar up on either side of him. He’s trapped. He’s trapped and—and Wilbur is doing nothing. He just stands beside Techno, grinning. _Happy_.

Techno pulls out a crossbow.

Tommy wakes up with a yell. It reverberates up the dark ravine walls. Fills the otherwise void, cold space. And Tommy remembers. Remembers a time when him waking like that would have warranted concern. Would’ve warranted open arms and warm blankets.

Now, he braces for a smack to the back of the head. Thankfully, it doesn’t come. Instead, as Tommy’s panic fades, he has to contend with something even worse.

Across from him, Tubbo is propped up on his elbows, watching him with tired concern. Ash and tinder lays between them. The long-gone fire has left a stench in the air. Tommy can’t help but shrink into his blanket, shame burning up his neck.

“You okay?” Tubbo asks quietly, in that same _stupid_ ways he always does. So full of concern and care and—and—It’s _dumb_. Tubbo is _dumb_ , he always has been, and Tommy just…

“Yes.” Tommy snaps, already rolling over—turning his back to Tubbo. “Go back to sleep, idiot. You’re so fucking _clingy_. Can’t even sleep without you getting on my case…”

“Tommy…”

There’s a distinct disappointment in Tubbo’s voice. A distinct _hurt_ at being shunned. But Tommy can’t feel bad about it. He won’t let himself. After all, he was never really _taught_ to.

Instead, he slams his eyes shut, praying that if he wills them closed long enough, Tubbo will _disappear_. And, for a moment, it seems his wish is granted. There’s a shuffling behind him. The clear sound of footsteps.

Tubbo is getting up. Tubbo is _leaving_. Probably going back to Manberg—After all, he was treated better there than he _ever_ has been. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he leave Tommy like everyone else? Why would Tubbo care about him when his own _brothers_ don’t—

The fear and the hurt are chased away as Tubbo merely pads over to where Tommy lays. He doesn’t say anything. Just drops his blanket on the ground. Then, he lays down right beside Tommy—backs pressed together, just like when they were kids.

Despite it all, Tubbo stays.

If he hears Tommy sniffling in the dark, he’s smart enough not to say anything.

-

Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t allowed himself to think about it. Well, he doesn’t allow himself to think about a _lot_ of things. But _him_ , in particular, Tommy doesn’t dwell on. He has never, really.

It was strange, to say the least. His brother begins staying not too far from him, then the next thing Tommy knows, there’s a little fox boy living with him. Is attached to him at the _hip_ , actually. Even calls him _dad_.

Tommy had no idea how _that_ came about, and he didn’t care to ask. All he ever knew was that… well, Fundy was _fun_. Sure, he was little and _weird_ , but he was also really nice, when he wanted to be.

They got along well, the three of them. Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy became like a _gang_. Roaming the grounds of L’manberg, terrorizing all who came into their path. Or just terrorizing each other. Mostly the latter…

But, in a way, Tommy came to love the little guy. He became a part of their family. Their exact relation Tommy never, _never_ wanted to think about. Having Fundy around though? That was _perfect_.

So, really, all this… It hurts. Because Fundy stayed. He stayed and he _joined_ Schlatt. Not in the way Tubbo did either—not to _help_ them. Just because he _wanted_ to. He wasn’t following orders when he tore down those walls.

He just wanted to hurt them—hurt _Wilbur_.

Without thinking about it even, Tommy knew Fundy was dead to him. That was just how it had to be. That was just… just what happened. Fundy was part of Manberg. He was the _enemy_. That was one thing Tommy knew for sure.

Then, Fundy appears in Pogtopia. Head held high, book tight in hand, looking more grown up than Tommy could’ve ever pictured. Without an ounce of hesitation, he walks right in. Slaps the book against his—his _father’s_ chest, glare harsh.

Suddenly, Tommy has to think about it. Think about a lot of things. Because Fundy was helping. He never believed in Schlatt. Maybe he did tear down the walls to spite Wilbur, but everything _after_ …

It’s in that moment, standing in Pogtopia, they all realize it. Looking around the group, suddenly it’s painfully obvious. Schlatt has no one. Schlatt is alone.

Schlatt is powerless.

And L’manberg?

It’s within reach.

-

They gather in the night, their ragtag group of freedom fighters. Anxiety is heavy in the air. All shift in their shoddy armor sets, clutching their lackluster weapons. For a moment, it seemed this would all be easy.

Then, Dream sided with Schlatt.

Still, they outnumber them two to one. On paper, it should be easy. Yet still, they shift nervously. Fidget and fear not all of them will be here this time tomorrow. Because it’s Dream. And Dream… Dream has bested them all.

Even Tommy is a little shaken by the thought of facing him. But he puts on a mischievous smile. Forces himself to believe his jitters are excitement.

This is it.

This is _everything_.

Under the moonlight, he glances between their group. Familiar, predictable faces—Wilbur, Tubbo, Niki, Techno. Some stranger appearances—Antfrost, BadBoyHalo, Skeppy, Sam. And then… the ones Tommy never would’ve hoped for… Quackity, Eret, and Fundy…

Part of Tommy wonders if this is all just a dream. Ever since Schlatt won, ever since they were kicked out… Tommy thought he lost this. Community, support, _friends_. Tommy thought he was alone for so long but now…

Even his brothers seem to be in a jovial mood. Whenever they catch Tommy’s eye, they smile. They look down at him proudly. Wilbur even ruffles his hair once, just like he used to.

And Techno? Techno does _everything_. He leads them to a hidden base, to a secret stash of weapons, supplies, and armor. At the sight of it all, the group’s anxieties just… vanish. Disappear into the wind. They retrieve what they need, and they stand tall. Stand proud.

Tommy stands proudest of all. Everything is just… it’s coming back together. His old friends are all here, bright and welcoming. His country is _finally_ within reach. And… his brothers. His brothers are opening back up.

The dark times are coming to a curtain close.

When they take the railroad, marching together towards their lost kingdom, Tommy feels light. Everything is going to be fine, he decides. How could it not, with all his loved ones around him?

They march towards Manberg, all pretending to forget Dream’s threats of a traitor.

-

All things considered, it’s easier than Tommy’s nightmares predicted. Sure, there’s a moment of… of _fear_. Terror, even. When they’re up on the tower, smoke filling the air and explosions all around, it feels like back then. The first war.

His mind tries to take him down dark pathways. If this is like the first war, what does that mean for him? Is he going to die again? And—And what about everyone else, what about—

Luckily, there’s plenty to distract himself. Techno shoves a crossbow, loaded with fireworks, into Tommy and Tubbo’s arms. Part of Tommy decides it has to be a practical joke. He isn’t given time to laugh though, as Techno shoves him back against the ramparts—yelling at him to fire.

At Quackity’s order, a dozen enderpearls fly through the air. Like arrows they pummel into the ground. In a burst, the entire armor is now mere feet in front of Manberg’s legion. Everything is sort of a blur for a while.

Through the red haze, a voice cuts through the crowd. Just like he always has, Tommy listens. Wilbur tells them all to put their weapons down. Tommy’s is disappearing before he thinks about it.

Beside Wilbur is Dream. Forever cowering by that _stupid_ mask, and his _stupid_ armor and—Does he still have the bow? Would he even have _cared_ to keep it—

Before anyone can even catch their breath, Dream announces his— _Manberg’s_ —surrender. There’s a distinct frustration in his voice. A tenseness in his shoulders. After all he and Dream’s struggles, Tommy has never seen him so… _bitter_.

Still littered with confusion and plagued with adrenaline, Tommy follows quietly as Dream leads them to the old van. Wilbur’s van. And inside is—

“Schlatt?”

A slurping echoes through the van, as Schlatt sucks on an empty bottle. The once esteemed president is slouched against the wall. His suit is unkempt, his hair overgrown and greasy. Even his horns are caked in dirt and dust. For some reason, the sight of him like this sends a shudder through Tommy.

It all sort of… turns to a blur again. Schlatt is very clearly out of it. Insane or maniacal or _something_. He’s slurring his words and throwing bottles. Grabbing Fundy by the front of his armor, spitting nothing but _hurt_ at him.

When Schlatt turns on Fundy, that’s when Wilbur steps in again. When he puts space between them, pointing a steady blade at Schlatt. There’s something in Schlatt’s eyes then. Wilbur’s too, behind the rage. It’s one of the few times in his life that Tommy can’t think of a single thing to say.

Then, Wilbur speaks. Tells Tommy to take Dream’s crossbow and put a bolt between Schlatt eyes. And Tommy, he… he takes it out. Loads it with quick, steady hands. Takes a step forward and he… he aims it between Schlatt’s eyes.

But there, staring down the man he’s _hated_ for so long, he hesitates. Because he can see a hurt there, in Schlatt. Frankly, he’s pitiful. With dried alcohol running through his ratty facial hair. Lips twitching and eyes red like blood.

Despite all he’s done, all Tommy thinks is that he doesn’t deserve to die. _None_ of them do. No one else should have to take an arrow for a war they didn’t wage. No one else should have to pay for these petty games with their _life_.

“Y’know…” Schlatt smirks. “If I die, this country goes down with me.”

“No, it doesn’t, Schlatt…” Tommy murmurs, and the words feel distant to him.

At that, Schlatt cackles. “Oh, you don’t even wanna _know_ , TommyInnit.”

Something about those slurred words send a chill down Tommy’s spine. Thankfully, Schlatt’s attention doesn’t stay on him for long. He turns to Quackity next, screaming at him. Wilbur and Eret and—and _everyone_ butts in. Everyone just wants to get their frustrations out. Everyone just wants someone to _blame_.

Suddenly, the entire van—the entire _nation_ —is cheering for Tommy to kill him. And Tommy… he thinks about it. His finger twitches for the trigger. He wants so, _so_ badly to just be done with this. To go back to being _safe_. To make everyone happy.

Hunched against the wall again, Schlatt is huffing and wheezing on the floor. There’s a burning flush creeping up his cheeks. Tommy thought it was the alcohol, or the yelling, or the _stress_ , but…

The man mutters more nonsense to himself. There’s a strange lightness to his voice, like he’s given up. When he tries to bring another bottle to his mouth, it knocks against his horns. Eventually, he gets it to his mouth. It’s empty.

Next thing anyone knows, his red-stained eyes roll to the back of his head.

Without any help from Tommy, or _anyone_ else, Schlatt dies.

-

“Tommy, look at me. Look at me.”

Through the rush of adrenaline, through the high of victory, Tommy forces himself to focus. Forces himself to follow orders. As they walk back to Manberg— _L’manberg_ —Tommy looks forward, where Wilbur is walking in front of him.

Despite all the cries behind him, all the yelling and the cheering, Tommy’s world falls quiet for just a second. The happy slaps against his shoulders go distant. He finds a moment of peace there.

Wilbur is smiling at him.

Wilbur is happy.

That’s when Tommy decides everything— _every_ little thing—is going to be okay.

“I know you never thought you’d hear me say this, Tommy.” Wilbur continues, shining. “I know you thought you’d never hear me say this but—Tommy Innit. Take your place on the podium. Give us a speech.”

Wilbur gestures behind them, where the grandstand still stands. Tommy follows his action, but his mind is lagging somewhere behind them. Why would he—Wilbur—There’s—this—

“Or should I say—” Wilbur breaks out into another _brilliant_ smile. “President-Elect Tommy Innit, go. Go take your place.”

Behind him, there are muffled gasps. Another hand claps him on the shoulder. Tommy’s head is too fuzzy to comprehend who it is. All he knows is that Wilbur is still smiling at him. He’s proud. For the first time ever, he’s _proud_.

None of it makes sense. But everyone is whooping. Fundy and Quackity tell him to take the podium. Wildly, he glances around for a detractor. Everyone is just… smiling. Everyone is happy. Wilbur catches his eye, gives him a firm nod. Tommy stumbles towards the podium.

It’s strange, being up there. Standing alone, looking down at… at all his _friends_. Seeing them stare back, smiling and laughing. No weapons drawn. No threat left to conquer. It’s just them—them and the future unfolding.

This? This is everything Tommy could’ve _ever_ wanted.

“Hello everyone,” He holds his head high, he grins. “It looks like we’ve won.”

Below, everyone cheers again. Grabbing each other, shaking each other, patting themselves on the back. Tommy looks around L’manberg, takes it all in. It’s been so _long_ , it’s been…

“And—And I never thought I’d say this…” Tommy continues. “But even after the hardships… The tyranny we’ve been through… Wilbur, Tubbo… After everything… It was meant to _be_.”

There’s a hearty chuckle at that. Old comrades reveling in it. Tommy looks down at them all, and he smiles. Let’s _himself_ revel in it. All the pain, all the hurt, it was all worth it. Because here they are. Everyone is _here_ , and _okay_ , and—and _happy_ again. That’s all Tommy has _ever_ wanted. All he’s…

His focus strays to the back of the crowd. There’s a small gang gathered there. In the midst of them all, arms crossed, stands Dream. There’s no way to see his expression. To tell what he really feels. But somehow, as Tommy stares at that _stupid_ mask, he knows Dream is staring back.

A dark reality begins to creep back on him.

In the middle of it all, he’d forgotten. All this, the election, the exile, Manberg and Pogtopia… It seemed to consume everything. But at the end of the day that’s not… that’s not what _any_ of this is about. Not really. Not for _Tommy_.

Beside Dream is Skeppy. Despite fighting beside them, against Manberg, of course Skeppy would run back to Dream’s side. That’s why Dream gave him the disc, isn’t it?

Ever since the first war ended, ever since they got L’manberg… Tommy dreamed of it. One day taking Wilbur’s place. Getting to stand before _his_ country, _his_ people, make _his_ rules. It seemed only fair. After all he’d done. After all he’d _given_.

All this time, Tommy has dreamed of being exactly where he is, right now.

But now that he’s here, staring Dream down, it doesn’t feel right. None of this does, it’s just—

“Wilbur…” Tommy looks down at his older brother, smiling sadly. “Thank you. Thank you everyone for making—for making me the president. And I—I know you said I never would be…. Wilbur, I can’t be the president.”

Somehow, Wilbur’s expression doesn’t change. He remains impassive, _blank_. All around him, another gasp runs through the crowd. Questions hurl at him from the mob. Tommy shuts his eyes, forcing himself forward.

“Because… As much as this is everything, and this is what… this is what _would’ve_ been everything… I’ve still got unfinished business.”

His eyes turn back to Dream. The man laughs—he _laughs_ , jovial. Tommy clenches his fists, hopes his gaze is intimidating.

“Because you’ve still got those discs.” Tommy addresses Dream directly before turning back to Wilbur. “And I—I _can’t_ do this… until we’re done. And Dream… we’re not done. So, I’m… Wilbur, I _can’t_ be the President. I… Thank you.”

Wilbur is still staring at him blankly. “Why not?”

Tommy has the momentum now, he has Wilbur’s attention so he just—he keeps going. Doesn’t stop for anything, anyone. Because he has things to say and—and he just wants someone to _listen_.

“After all you’ve been through…” Tommy continues, looking right at Wilbur. “I know—I know you had your points where we _thought_ that you were gonna blow this—Going on about your _Chekov’s fucking gun_ —I know that that was all just… just _talk_ now. And finally, you did this… And there wasn’t a _single_ explosion.

“Wilbur… Take your place on the podium.”

Because, at the end of the day, _that_ is the right thing to do. It was always meant to be Wilbur. He was the one that started all this. It was taken from him before his time was up. He should—He should have another chance.

Wilbur was always happiest in L’manberg. Maybe he can be happy with L’manberg again. If things can just go back to how they were then—then maybe his big brother will be okay. _Everything_ will be okay again. Yeah…

His heart pounds in his ears when he jumps down from the podium. He thinks he might be shaking. Even so, he rejoins the crowd. Sucks in a deep breath as Wilbur comes to the head of the podium.

Tommy glances to his left briefly. Fundy is sitting there. The fox-boy smiles at him, kind and warm. Just like he used to. Tommy smiles back, kicks him lightly. Fundy’s shoulders shake.

And just then, it seems good. Seems like they can go back to normal. Because here they all are, together. Tommy’s got his family back. And Wilbur… Wilbur is on the podium, about to lead his people. Everything is good. Everything is _right_.

Then, Wilbur says he cannot be president. Addresses Techno directly, tells him he was right. Wilbur sides with him, agrees with him. It feels like the pit again, for a second. It feels like Tommy’s just been shoved to the side. Betrayed.

Before he can spiral completely, let himself be consumed by hurt, Wilbur continues. Wilbur looks down, but not to Tommy. Instead, to the seat in front of him. Wilbur announces there is only one person who can be president.

He calls up Tubbo to the grandstand.

Around him, everyone erupts. And Tommy joins them. Because it’s his best friend. They’ve known each other _forever_ and—and Wilbur is right. Wilbur is _always_ right. Tubbo is the only one who can do this. The only one who can lead them.

The crowd whoops and cheers as Tubbo stutters, and Tommy smiles. Smiles wide and hard and lets himself be _happy_. Cackles at the embarrassed flush on Tubbo’s cheeks. His winded expression, his wide eyes. Now this… _this_ is everything.

“Uhm…” Tubbo begins, in typical awkward fashion. “Okay, well, I… I’ve been put on the spot here. I wasn’t expecting to be… surrounded here with friends… uh, enemies, which… I don’t hate all that much, I’ll be honest.

“But I enjoy seeing the unity. And I feel like that’s really what matters. Everyone here is brought together. Whether we were fighting for or against each other or together. And I feel like that’s important.

“And I feel like… there’s a solid future, to be built here. _Yes_ , it has some damages, but everything has damages! When I think of damages of like a piece of wood, which has had nails _banged_ into it. You can take the nails out, but there’s still _dents_ , okay?

“There’s still holes. And holes can be _filled_. And that’s what I would like to do as my job as president. I don’t want to… like, be an _agent of chaos_ if you will. Or anyone who wants to start violent activity. That’s honestly the _last_ thing on my agenda right now. I just want to…

“You know, I wanna fix this place up! I want it to be back as it was in its heyday. And I feel like… Now everyone’s _here_ … in unity, no one is banned, there aren’t any walls. Although the walls were _nice_ … I feel like now the walls are gone it _does_ allow free passage.

“Everyone can be here! Everyone has _fought_ for this nation. Against, or to reclaim. And that’s what counts. Thank you everyone. It’s been… It’s been an honor.”

The nation erupts. It’s loud, louder than it was for Tommy, or even Wilbur. That’s how Tommy knows. Tubbo is the one. And Tommy… _man_ , he just couldn’t be happier. It was all worth it. Fighting, losing a life, losing _friends_ , being exiled…

If it means that Tommy gets to see Tubbo this happy, this excited, it was worth it. Every last drop of blood, sweat, and tears. Honestly, as Tubbo begins stumbling through what to do, Tommy thinks he’d do it all again.

Through it all, he doesn’t notice. Notice Wilbur slip away, hands in his pockets. Notice Techno standing there, still. Quiet. Armed crossed and brow furrowed. For just a moment, Tommy allows himself not to think about them.

“Excuse me, Mr. President.” Tommy grins, when Tubbo comes down from the podium. He nods firmly. “Congratulations, man.”

Tubbo returns his smile, eyes distinctly watery. “Tommy, you have been by my side for a very long time. And I know you have unfinished business, but that business is settled, I would really appreciate it if you’d join my side and be my VP.”

“I will, Tubbo.” Tommy grins, holding out a hand. Tubbo shakes it eagerly. “I will.”

“This is _awesome_!” Tubbo laughs, running away to go begin taking down the old festival decorations.

Tommy watches him go, appreciates the spring in his step, before getting to work his own self. Truthfully, being Vice President never _really_ meant much. Not with Wilbur, anyway. But this is for _Tubbo_. He should be better. He’s _going_ to be better.

And Tommy… Tommy doesn’t notice. Through all the joking, and the joy, he doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see the flash of light in Techno’s hand. Doesn’t see him dart forward. Doesn’t notice when he takes aim.

Colorful smoke fills the courtyard. The force of the explosion seems to shake the ground. Shouts of panic erupt all around them. Tommy has a weapon in his hand before he even thinks about it.

With a gust of wind, the smoke disperses enough to lay barren the scene in front of them.

Techno stands proud and tall as ever, regal in his armor. He stands with a boot on Tubbo’s chest. The boy-president lays on his back, covered in soot. Tears run down his cheeks—but Tommy can tell. They aren’t from happiness. Tubbo is in pain.

Techno has hurt him. Again, he’s hurt him.

“You guys listen to me!” Techno yells, still pointing the loaded crossbow in Tubbo’s face. “I did not spend _weeks_ planning this revolution—giving you guys gear, for you to go in and replace one tyrant with another!

“Don’t you see what’s happening here? Don’t you see history repeating itself? You think _Schlatt_ was the cause of your problems? _NO_. It was _government_! Power corrupts!”

And for the second time that day, Tommy feels like he’s at the bottom of a pit, beaten bloody. What did Techno think was gonna happen? What did he think they were gonna do when they took back L’manberg? Wasn’t it _obvious_?

More importantly, why couldn’t Techno have fired that shot at _him_? Why did it have to be Tubbo again, he doesn’t _deserve_ —

It all fades to a bloody, messy blur. Dream runs at him, sword raised. Tommy pearls away before he’s hit. Then it’s all just… just _chaos_. Just _terror_ and _pain_ and _betrayal_ and—

At some point, Dream corners him. Without even seeing him properly, Tommy knows he’s smirking. Cocky as always. Dream doesn’t raise a weapon. Instead, he uses what he knows. It hurts Tommy just as much as a sword to the chest.

“ _Know who the traitor was, Tommy? The traitor was big brother Wilbur._ ”

 _No_ , that’s not right. It _can’t_ be right. Wilbur wanted L’manberg back, that’s what he _said_. That’s what they’ve been fighting for this whole time! He wouldn’t—wouldn’t side with _Dream_. He wouldn’t! And—And Techno just hurt Tubbo! The traitor was _him_ , it had to be _him_ —

But where is Wilbur?

Why isn’t he… why did he…

At his feet, there’s a quiet hissing. Tommy stops in his tracks, looks down. There’s nothing. Just grass and dirt and… His head snaps up, just in time.

Just in time to watch L’manberg shatter.

It happens in a heartbeat. A singular breath release. Heat overcomes everything. Tears through the podium, the river, the buildings. Everything they’ve ever worked for is torn apart in a _second_.

And Tommy can only watch.

He thinks he’s screaming, along with everyone else. Once the initial explosion disperses, Tommy scrambles to his feet. Sprints forward, screaming for Tubbo. He runs down the path, right between what used to be the seating of the podium.

All around him it’s just—it’s a _crater_. Everything is gone. Replaced with rubble, and smoke, and—and _nothing_. There’s just—it’s all—

As the smoke begins to rise, Tommy looks up. Looks across the crater. Right under the remains of the podium is the cause of it all.

Wilbur stares back at Tommy, a soft smile on his face. There’s a calmness to him that—that Tommy doesn’t even _recognize_. Like he finally let out a breath he’d been holding. Tears run quietly down Wilbur’s soot-stained face.

It takes a moment for Tommy to realize who is standing beside him.

It’s Dadza.

With his familiar, kind eyes. His lined, worn face. Behind him, the silhouette of fluffy, comfortable wings. But they’re—they’re torn, burned, _broken_. And Dad he’s—Why is he crying? _Why does he look like that_?

Seemingly in slow motion, Dadza looks over at Tommy. Their eyes meet. A million words and complete silence are simultaneously communicated. Every single part of Tommy _begs_ him. Just fix this, Dad _please_ —

It’s too late when Tommy finally realizes there’s a sword clutched in Phil’s hand.

A scream rips itself from Tommy’s chest as Wilbur is impaled. There’s so much _red_ , why is it all _red_ , why—Wilbur falls limp to the ground. Tommy screams again. _No_ , Wilbur isn’t supposed to—to _get hurt, to die_. He—He was supposed to be _happy_. The plan was to make him _happy_!

Before Tommy can—can _do anything_ , Techno is back. Headless bodies of hand formed behind him. Black, smoking skulls tight in hand. And Tommy has to let it all go. Let himself return to only his instincts. There’s no time for—for _anything else_.

But even as he convinces himself of that, it’s impossible not to feel like a sword hasn’t been run through _his_ chest. The explosion—Tommy knew it was coming. Wilbur did that. This war? This needless bloodshed? This is Techno.

Though Tommy has done everything— _everything_ —they asked, his brothers have still taken it all from him. They have thrown him away. Betrayal burns tight in his chest, as Tommy grips onto Tubbo, forces him behind his back.

“ _You want to be a hero, Tommy?_

 _“Then DIE LIKE ONE_!”

-

Smoke rises over the battlefield as sunrise comes. The ground is littered with broken weapons, misplaced armor, splashes of blood. Amongst the craters, slowly decaying corpses of withers lie. As soon as the last one falls, Tommy drops his sword. Drops his armor, his potions— _everything_.

Tommy runs back to L’manberg. Back to the crater. Back to Wilbur.

Now, he finds himself thankful that Wilbur showed him the entrance to the room. Dirt and loose rocks are heaped in front of it, but Tommy manages to squeeze his way through. The tunnel is half caved in. Walls still creaking and ground still groaning, but Tommy doesn’t care. He ducks and weaves his way through.

He comes out the other end of the tunnel. Half the room has been blown away. Everything else is covered in ash and soot and—and blood.

At the epicenter, Philza sits. His broken wings shroud the entire room. Tommy runs up to him, looks over his shoulder and—

Wilbur is there, lain in their father’s lap. White as a sheet, eyes long closed, chest still, blood dried. But he’s still _there_ , he’s not—he should’ve— _why isn’t he alive again_? _Why isn’t his big brother alive_?

He’s never _died_ before—he’s supposed to _come back_. He has three chances, _why isn’t he coming back_?

“No,” Tommy whispers, tears beginning to flow. “No, _no, no, NO! WILBUR!_ ”

He stumbles over Philza’s wings, collapsing at his side. His hands hover over Wilbur’s still face. Why isn’t he _waking up_. Why hasn’t he _appeared somewhere_ , he’s not supposed to—to—

But he has. From the tears splattering off Philza’s jaw, Tommy knows it’s true. From the shocked, pained gasps of others around, above, below him. The crater in front of them, the abandoned sword at their feet, and the still, cold man before him. Tommy knows.

Wilbur left him.

Wilbur is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much love to everyone who's made it this far! i hope it has been enjoyable. it was so much fun to adapt things back to writing. 
> 
> tomorrow is the epilogue, thank you everyone ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quiet send off, a hopeful meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't just leave it on that depressing note, so here's a softer ending ;) 
> 
> if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! this story really was my baby for a while, and i'm so glad it's finally out there. i hope you've enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it. thank you for being here, reading my silly words. i appreciate you <3
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!

It rains the day they meet at the remains of the van. It’s fitting, Tommy decides. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have gone if the sky didn’t seem as miserable as he was. And if Tubbo wasn’t there to drag him out of bed, into a dark coat.

There isn’t much.

Just an old, grainy photo in a frame. The tattered, burned cover of the declaration. A flower in a pot. The blue one, the cornflower. It was his favorite. Always his favorite…

All things considered, the crowd itself is small too. Tommy, Tubbo. Phil. Fundy. Just those closest to him, for now. Just his family. Tommy prefers it that way, even if he can’t stand half of the people there. But it’s better. It’s okay.

None of them speak for a while. Just stand there stupidly, staring at his long-gone face. Wishing they’d done something different. Said something different. _Been_ different.

Of course, Tommy can only take the silence for so long.

“I still don’t understand…” Tommy mutters, voice shaking with anger. “How is he—He’s never died. He should have two left. Why is—Why is he _gone_?”

“Well, that’s not…” Phil speaks, rubbing his nose. “That’s obviously not true, Tommy. You know that.”

“I don’t fucking understand it! I’ve been with him forever, he’s never died! Never told me about it! He should be here, why isn’t he _here_?”

“You only ever knew him when he had two lives, Tommy.”

Tommy’s jaw snaps shut at that. Looking at Phil, he really thinks he might hate him. All his life he thought that was impossible. Phil is his dad, Phil is _great_ , how could he ever dislike him? But now…

Even so, he knows it’s not right. Tommy just wants someone to blame. Phil is easiest. So, he picks Phil. And for now, he hates him. He really does.

“Will lost a life when he was a baby.” Phil mutters, looking at the picture of his lost son. “That’s why I was always so protective of him. Just wanted to keep him safe, but now… I dunno…”

“Okay, but what about the other?” Tommy demands, anger rising. “That’s only one, he should still have another left then!”

Phil sighs. “I don’t know, Tommy. All I know is it happened, he sent me a letter saying he was on his last. I don’t know what happened though, he never—”

“It was my fault.”

They all go silent. All pairs of eyes turn to the small voice. The shaking shoulders of a small boy. A newly coined orphan, a child who has always tried, but never been content. Everyone turns to Fundy, slack jawed.

“When I was little…” Fundy rubs at his eyes. “I stayed out too late, and the monsters—they—they—He protected me. Did everything he could to make sure I was safe, but I just… I always felt bad and now he’s just—he’s _gone_ and…”

Fundy crouches then, apparently unable to exert the energy to stand. His shoulders shake harder now. Tommy can only watch him for a while. Every instinct in his body tells him to go comfort him. Tell him it’s not his fault, or—or _something_.

But all he can do is stand there. Look back at the picture. Back when everything was good. L’manberg was new and everyone was _happy_. Tommy hates it. Hates _everyone_ and _everything_. Because his big brother is gone. And his other brother is a _dick_.

Tommy’s just alone. Without a mentor, without a brother, without a reason. Through it all, it’s been the two of them. All of their best adventures, it was the two of them. The two of them against the _world_.

Now, Tommy has to face it alone.

He hates it.

His grief and anger and _fear_ must be visible on his face. Tubbo reaches a soft hand up, holds tight to his shoulder. Tries to ground him. Or comfort him, or _something_. But all it does is irritate him further.

Tommy shrugs him off, marching a few steps away and crouching in the damp grass. He holds his head tight in his hands. As if he were able to squeeze the pain out of him. Rain falls down silently on him. Tommy revels in it.

A strange, foreign sound reaches his ears then. Deeply familiar, yet deeply unsettling. Slowly, Tommy unravels. Perks his head up, listens closer. He pushes to his feet, creeping towards it.

On his approach, it hits him like a sack of bricks to the stomach.

It’s a guitar.

Quiet strumming and the soft murmur of a low voice, singing. The song Tommy knows too well. Could recite it by heart, not that he _ever_ would. Not unless one person asked.

It’s the national anthem, the song of L’manberg.

Tommy reaches the source of the noise. The L’mantree. The only original tree that still stands. Despite it all, it’s still here. Still living and moving on. Finding a way to preserve, through everything. All the trauma, the hurt, the terror…

Carefully, as if it might bite, Tommy glances around the trunk of the tree.

A man sits there, guitar in hand, singing to himself quietly. He wears a familiar, soft yellow sweater. With curly, tangled hair, and a lanky look about him. There’s something different though, he’s… pale. Translucent, even. Looking at him makes Tommy’s head hurt. Like he’s not supposed to, like it’s not _possible_.

Against all odds, Wilbur looks up at Tommy. He startles at the sight of him, mangling a chord. Tommy can’t even be bothered by the horrid noise. He can only stare in amazement, as Wilbur smiles at him. Bright. Happy.

“ _Hello! I’m Ghostbur!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much love to everyone who made it to the end! you mean the world to me <3
> 
> many more ideas, so hopefully lots more writing soon! until then, stay safe and be nice to yourself ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, the rest of the chapters will be posted over the next few weeks! 
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)
> 
> much love, aub ^-^


End file.
